


Dean Winchester's extraordinary adventures

by siriala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alligators & Crocodiles, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Bottom Sam Winchester, Dinosaurs, Egypt, Established Relationship, M/M, Mummies, Paris (City), Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21609562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriala/pseuds/siriala
Summary: Dean Winchester writes books for a living. Rather, what his fans do not know is that his little brother, Samuel, actually writes most of the books. Dean comes ups with the stories, outrageous, violent and sensual, and Sam adapts them for public consumption with his attention to details and research skills. They make a pretty good pair, in Dean's opinion, playing on the strengths each of them possesses. Himself as the attractive front man, Sammy as the labor force. Together, they're unstoppable.But there's something very wrong with Sammy. Will Dean be able to make it right again for the both of them ?
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37
Collections: SPN Cinema





	Dean Winchester's extraordinary adventures

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2019 spn_cinema challenge. I've had a very hard time finishing it, because RL was a bitch hitting me at every opportunity, so I want to thank the mods more than ever for being so cool about it and letting me post on Amnesty Day. 
> 
> Another huge thank you goes to the fantabulous honscot, my beta and friend, who deserves a Dean of her own for all the troubles she goes through because of my fics ! As usual, she made this story so much better and it's only because I don't always know what's good for me that I don't follow all her advice.
> 
> This is a Supernatural fusion with Les aventures extraordinaires d'Adèle Blanc-Sec ([The extraordinary adventures of Adèle Blanc-Sec](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1179025/)). The character Adèle Blanc-Sec was born from the imagination of comic book artist Tardi and then, much later, became a movie icon thanks to actress Louise Bourgoin. When I finally got to see the film, I was entertained by the crazy, fun story full of supernatural elements and goofy characters, and also very aware of the similitudes between Adèle and Dean. They're both fearless, impatient and good with a comeback (including dorky ones), they want to have fun but are also prepared to go to the end of the world to save their younger sibling's life. Not to mention that they're both gorgeous ;)
> 
> If someone around here knows the movie, don't worry, I gave Sam a much bigger part than the character he's replacing :) All in all, I stuck close to the whole progress of the story, and to certain scenes I love particularly, but I used different means to get there and tried to make it a real Supernatural tale so I hope you'll enjoy it ! I changed the names of some Supernatural characters to make them look a bit more French when I needed them to be locals, since the story is mostly set in Paris (I had the most fun with the inspectors names, they are my Dupond and Dupont – or, it seems, Thomson and Thompson in the English version of Tintin). In the same spirit, for the part happening in Egypt, as there're not many Arabic characters in SPN, I used the inspiration of first or last names of actors who have played at some point in the show, so they are in fact original characters. 
> 
> Little help remembering minor characters from the show :  
>  **Violet Duval** was a werewolf in love with a shapeshifter in episode 920 Bloodlines (the first of potential spin-offs that wouldn't be, thank you very much in this case !), played by Melissa Roxburgh (more recently seen in Manifest). Here she becomes Violette Duval, a cancan dancer.  
>  **Victor Rogers** was the hunter teaching Krissy Chambers and two other teenagers out for vengeance how to kill monsters in 818 Freaks and geeks. He was portrayed by Adrian Hough. Here he is Victor Roger, nondescript Joe Public.  
>  **Father Thomas Gregory** (played by David Monahan) appeared in 213 Houses of the Holy. He's still a priest in the fic, Père Thomas Grégoire.

The year is 1911. At the time our story begins, Dean Winchester is 28.

Dean was born in January, an Aquarius. He's a charming young man with a winning smile, a gorgeous lad whose good looks, impatience and wit give him the ability to talk people into doing what he wishes them to.

He writes books for a living.

Rather, what his fans do not know is that his little brother, Samuel, actually writes most of the books. Dean comes ups with the stories, outrageous, violent and sensual, and Sam adapts them for public consumption with his attention to details and research skills.

They make a pretty good pair, in Dean's opinion, playing on the strengths each of them possesses. Himself as the attractive front man, Sammy as the labor force. Together, they're unstoppable.

Which is exactly the problem.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

\-------------

It's kinda warm in Egypt, overly so. Dean has been experiencing the truth of this statement for the last few days, as he made his way to Cairo, and then to the site he's come to look for in the first place.

He guesses he would never have visited the country without a good reason pushing him on the trail of the pharaohs, rulers of an ancient time mostly forgotten, probably for a good reason. Consanguineous marriages come to mind, even if it's ironic for him to think so.

What's even more ironic is that Sam, with his need to learn always more, would have loved to come with him more than anything. And he would have made traveling much more fun. Friendly locals notwithstanding, pyramids and mummies are no match to his brother's warm and pliant body. His endless love.

But then again, although this trip might be lacking in Sam's presence, Dean made it all for his Sam, so he lets go of his bitterness and makes sure to fill his brain with memories, to be able, later on, to tell Sam about everything he's seen, tasted, smelled and felt.

If it's at all possible, he'll try to go back home with a few dusty parchments that will make Sam so happy he won't sleep for months, trying to decipher their messages for the benefit of humanity. A way to defy death. To reach world peace. To bring the end of all monsters and demons. Whatever. Dean's not picky.

Save for one thing. The thing that led to the whole trip, leaving Sammy behind and traveling always farther from home.

Mark his words. This thing he will find and take back home, even if he has to fight local monsters he's never heard about. Sam's life is at stake.

He meets with his guides before the final leg of the trip. Mahjoub's skin is deeply tanned and his smile honest. Tahir is more reserved but something in him also inspires trust.

"How long to get there ?" Dean asks once the pleasantries are over and done with.

The closer he gets, the more impatient he feels himself becoming.

"With this heat," Mahjoub answers, clearly used to white men's abruptness, "six hours at the least."

"So let's get a move on !"

Mahjoub leads him toward a camel that looks down on him and already Dean can feel trouble brewing over that one. Yet he climbs on his back and tries not to show he's not that fine up there.

Once the beast is back on its leg and his guides ready, Dean tries to spur his mount into moving like the horses he's ridden but nothing happens.

"How do you say 'Go !' in Arabic ?" he asks.

"Yallah," Mahjoub answers.

"Yallah !" Dean orders, putting as much command in his voice as he can.

But still the beast refuses to move an inch. Dean turns back to Mahjoub.

"How do you say 'Move, stupid mule, or I'll have you cut into tiny pieces and fed to the crocodiles ?'"

The guides look at him as if he's grown a second head but soon the camel moves at last after Dean repeats the words he's been taught.

The trip is indeed a long and sweaty one and it gives Dean all the time he needs to review all the things he knows that will prove useful once there.

Their goal is yet another pyramid. Dean doesn't want to be that kind of guy – he can hear Sam's voice in his head, telling him he is _exactly_ that kind of guy – the stereotype of the uncouth American who criticizes everything. But the fact remains that once you've seen one of those big piles of stones, you've seen 'em all. Rocks never were his things, anyway.

He doesn't miss the man watching him with a lot of interest as he dismounts. Not a local, though he dresses like one, djellabah and turban masking most of his body and some of his face. Dean's not sure what to do with his overfriendly smile. Is the man trying to woo him to sell him something, or to look nice before he attacks ?

After asking the local workers for directions, Tahir leads Dean and Mahjoub to the excavation site. They have to use a makeshift ladder to descend into the ancient place and soon the heat becomes sufferable at last.

"Where are we ?" Mahjoub asks, "is this the tombs room ?"

"No," Dean answers, feeling confident with everything he's read beforehand. "This is the mummies room. Bloodletting and evisceration took place here on this altar."

He points to another corner of the room.

"Viscera were discarded in these pots, and then the bodies were washed a little bit, makeup was applied, and finally came the dressing-up part."

"And what's that ?" Mahjoub wonders, visibly impressed by Dean's knowledge.

He shows something dangling from the ceiling.

"It was used to create tailor-made costumes. The body was lying there, and then the machine automatically applied twenty layers of bandages, and the special oil between layers."

With the tip of his finger, Dean collects a tiny blob of oil and brings it to his mouth.

"What kind of oil is that ?" Mahjoub asks.

"No idea," Dean grimaces at the foul taste, "but it keeps you in good shape !"

Maybe he should bring some back with him, in case it might help with Sam. Delay the inevitable. Without a second thought, Dean empties his gourd of the remaining water and fills it back up with oil.

But then Tahir yells from the other side of the room.

"Found it !'"

Dean is quick to join him and soon he's nodding, recognizing the first clue to find what he's here for.

"Okay, gentlemen, show me what you've got," Dean orders as he takes a piece of old parchment out of his pocket.

Mahjoub and Tahir do the same and bring their own, smaller pieces next to his. The three parts give form to a rectangle upon which a drawing indicates what they're looking for.

Dean turns around and looks at the beetle engraved on the wall. Next is a bark, and it all reminds Dean of the stuff Bobby researched on his behalf.

"Death is the only way toward birth," he cites.

With his right hand, he pushes the sun-like circle engraved above the bark. The wall seems to give under his power, receding while sand flows from a newly appeared hole, leading to a section of the wall coming up. A viscous, black liquid like petroleum is released, slowly making its way toward Dean and his company, forcing them to take a step back.

That's when Dean feels the cold barrel of a gun against the sweaty nape of his neck.

He rolls his eyes, sighs and then turn to take a look at the newcomer who seems to believe he can stop him.

"Azazel, fancy meeting you here."

"A pleasure like always, Dean, but here your trip comes to an end."

"Is that so ?"

"I'm afraid it is. I'm going to make you a favor and let you leave alive, but you need to go now."

Dean takes in the men surrounding Azazel, all pointing their rifles at him.

"And here I thought Egyptians were welcoming."

Next to Dean's old foe stands the man he saw outside.

"Well, Azazel's not Egyptian," the guy says with a heavy accent that betrays him as British.

The fact is, no one knows exactly where Azazel comes from. As far as Dean knows, he's pretended to be German, English, French, and many other nationalities as the need arose. It's only one of the reasons why Dean won't ever trust him.

"So when you guys feel like being civil to Americans like me again, send me a postcard. In the meanwhile, I'd be extra careful in your place. The ground is covered with a dangerous mix of oil and petroleum. Better not light a match."

Dean grips his hat to salute them and takes his leave.

Not that he's going very far. There's a mosaic on the altar in the left corner that he needs to get a better look at. To get there, he uses the distraction of Azazel ordering one of his men to dip his hand into the petroleum and another one to set it aflame, proving that Dean was indeed right all along.

Dean's flanked by Mahjoub and Tahir who do their best to protect him with their bodies while he takes his notebook out of his pocket and compares the mosaic to the etching he's got in there. They match.

Once the burned man had managed to extinguish the fire with sand and his cries of pain have abated, Azazel's right-hand man comes looking for Dean.

"It seems to me your expertise might be required. I'm Crowley, by the way. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"I'm sure it is ! Your support is overwhelming, please forgive me if I shed a tear."

Dean ignores the offered hand and turns back to the altar. He knows he's close. He cups his hand and fills it with sand that he tamps down a bit before pushing a bit more out. When he's satisfied he's got the right proportion, he lets the sand flow down in the small bowl of a weighing scale. The cup goes down with the added weight.

Immediately, a slab of stone rises up behind them. And then another at the opposite end of the room goes vertical too. And finally, the altar Dean has been working on stands upright in its turn.

A corridor appears, illuminated by what looks like the light of day, which is impossible. Dean grips his notebook and walks over there, closely followed by Mahjoub and Tahir. The rest of the party, Azazel as well as his men, follow without a word.

They all gape as they enter the next room. Aladdin's cave might possess more riches but Dean's eyes are not looking for the many jewels, knick-knacks and talismans.

"All praise be to Allah !" one of the men exclaims.

Dean has found what he was looking for. The tomb is beautiful but not as magnificent as a pharaoh's would be so he's got no doubt this is the one he needs. Mahjoub and Tahir help with opening it while everyone else is trying to gather as many jewels as they can put in their pockets. Azazel and Crowley try to rein their men in but to no avail.

"It's heavy," Tahir complains as they lift the sarcophagus to get it out of the tomb and open it, only to find another one inside, like Russian dolls of an ancient time. "How are we going to take it out of here ?"

"This kind of place always has a way in and a way out. Go and find it !"

"So this is the pharaoh you came for ?" Mahjoub asks after Tahir's gone.

"No, not a pharaoh. A doctor."

"Are you sick, Mr. Winchester ?" Azazel wonders.

"Just nauseous. Nothing that getting out of your presence won't cure."

"I see. Why should a writer like you stoop down so low as to become a tomb robber ?"

"I'm not robbing, merely borrowing. Patmosis was Ramses II's greatest physician, his knowledge knew no bounds. I need it for my sick brother."

"You realize this man is dead ?"

"It didn't escape my attention."

From his bag, Dean gets a book that he holds high for Azazel to see. It reads 'Is there an afterlife ?" by Pr. Donatello Redfield.

"That old fool !" Azazel laughs. "What do you think he's gonna do with your stinking mummy ? Redfield will probably be just as dead before you even get back to Marseille."

"Careful ! Mummies don't take well to lack of respect. Or theft."

"Don't they now ? Then we'll have to protect you. Take him into custody," Azazel orders to his men, "and gather everything here, including the mummy. We're leaving."

Dean steps back before any of the men can reach him. Then a deep rumble stops them all as they listen intently to the sound and a slight move, like a minor earthquake, shakes the place.

"Did you find the way out ?" Dean murmurs when Tahir is back next to him to protect and be protected all at once.

"Nothing. I only saw jewels, statues of crocodiles all around the room, and the tomb in the middle."

Dean shows his most dazzling smile, leaving Tahir somewhat… bedazzled.

"That's it !" Dean exults, "you found it. You and Mahjoub, be prepared to go when I beckon you."

Dean looks at the room, ready to move at the first sign. And he doesn't have to wait for long.

From one corner comes one of the most terrible screams he's ever heard, abject terror and devastating pain mixed.

"The crocodiles !" the man next to the one already being chewed on yells. "They're alive ! Run !!"

The advice is sound, save for the fact that sixteen statues – if Dean's count is accurate – have awakened, and the far-too-alive crocodiles are outnumbering the humans, blocking their way to the exit.

In other words, they're screwed.

Hell breaks loose as everyone tries to escape the powerful jaws out to crush their bones. Only Dean and his two men stand rooted to their spot next to Patmosis' tomb.

"Jump into one of the sarcophaguses and follow me !" Dean orders as soon as no gun is aiming at them anymore.

Dean shows the way by jumping into Patmosis' sarcophagus and giving it the necessary push to slide back into the tomb. He really hopes he's not mistaken, otherwise his trip will be very short-lived. The last thing he sees of this room is a blur of faces, Mahjoub and Tahir running hard on his heels to follow his orders, and then Crowley and Azazel realizing what they're doing, all in the middle of terrifying screams and sounds of death.

He feels slightly bad for the poor guys who are meeting with such a horrible death, but he's pretty sure Azazel will survive, cockroach that he is, and that he'll feed his men to the crocodiles himself if that's what he needs to stay alive. Crowley will probably assist.

Then the sarcophagus is plunging deep into the pyramid's entrails. Dean's body, lying above Patmosis, keeps the box slightly open so he's able to see what happens along the way. The passage is narrow at first, slightly claustrophobia-inducing, but then it enlarges to reveal a huge cavern they're falling through, and Dean's brain informs him that the situation is a thousand times worse. Flying is not a human's natural state, whatever the means to achieve such a state, and Dean freaks out. He might even squeeze the poor mummy a little bit, thinking he's not alone in this moment, and if Sam's not here, Patmosis will have to do.

He's definitely not imagining the risk of dying by shattering the sarcophagus, wherever they land, that becomes more plausible with each second passing and the speed they gather.

Dean holds his breath, mind shutting down, and waits for the end, but he's shown once more that the Egyptians of old times knew how to build stuff. When the big shock comes, the sarcophagus doesn't disintegrate, instead landing over water in a great splash. Nevertheless, Dean hits his head against the lid and things get a bit foggy for a short moment. Enough that he hardly hears the sound of more sarcophaguses landing just like the one he shares with Patmosis did.

Surprised to still be alive, Dean opens the lid as soon as his dizzy spell is over and takes a look around. The sarcophagus is in good shape, gently floating. Patmosis went through this ordeal unscathed and doesn’t look one day older than his three thousand years and some change.

But the lake they fell in soon morphs into a torrent, and Dean recloses the lid as much as possible to avoid being drenched, or worse, thrown out against one of the big boulders that blocks the water’s run. He can only hope the sarcophagus won’t crash into one of them. Solid work it may be, but he wouldn't give much for these odds.

It goes on like that for what is probably nothing more than one minute, two tops, but feels like hours.

And then suddenly the sarcophagus is airborne again, not in the cavern anymore, the blue sky attests to this fact, and Dean feels his stomach churn. A part of him wants to look outside, see how high they are, if they stand a chance to survive a second fall, but once again the part of him terrified of being in freefall prefers to remain blissfully ignorant until the last second. If he has to die, so be it. But he doesn’t want to spend his last moments imagining how it’s gonna hurt. How he's gonna miss the best things in his life. How he's gonna fail his lover.

But his lucky star still protects him, it seems. Once again, the sarcophagus lands on smooth water. Dean dares to take in the world outside his box and finds himself on a big blue ribbon bordered with miles of sand, and it can only be that they're now floating on the Nile.

Dean is relieved to see behind him two other sarcophaguses, floating half a mile away. He can recognize Mahjoub and Tahir, each in one of the boxes ; maybe they're a little worse for the wear, but definitely alive. He waves back at them to show he's good too.

On the other hand, he can’t see who’s riding the two other sarcophaguses that appear next, but he suspects Azazel and Crowley followed him and hitched a ride in their turn, leaving their men behind. Not even trying to get one or two with them inside the ancient boxes. Dean checks anyway, casting a wary look around himself.

Close enough, a fisherman looks back, clearly surprised by the unexpected company that just popped into the vicinity of his sad-looking little boat. Dean offers him his most brilliant smile.  
"  
"Nice day, my good fellow ! Which way to Cairo ?"

For good measure, Dean repeats his question in his broken but intelligible French. The man either understands one of those two languages or Dean’s intentions are clear enough, for he raises his arm and shows the way downstream.

Great, Dean thinks. No need to paddle. He turns towards the mummy lying so very still next to him.

"Sorry to impose, Pat. Seems we’re gonna be bunk buddies for a little while."

Dean lies down and closes his eyes. He’s seen enough sand for the next few years, and he's not one to miss an opportunity to take a nap.

Of course, his brain decides there is no better moment to consider everything that's happened today.

There's another thing Dean's readers don't know. Apart from his books being a collaborative work with his little brother, all stories they write are based on real facts. Because Dean and Sam are hunters. They go after dangerous creatures feasting on humans. This is not something they can advertise, and this risky business doesn't pay much, save for the gratefulness of the victims they help and the satisfaction of a job well done. So it's only fair if Dean makes use of some of their achievements to please his readers. The gorier, the better. People like it when a few victims are sacrificed, eaten or simply torn apart by ugly monsters. Sadly, Dean never lacks real-life examples from which to draw his most disgusting scenes.

This here is not that much different from what Dean's used to. Even statues turning into live, murderous crocodiles are not outside the realm of the world he inhabits.

What he finds more difficult to pass as a coincidence is Azazel's presence here in Egypt, as the same exact time and place he chose to visit. Looking for what ? This remains to be seen, but his instincts tell him to try and avoid Azazel and Crowley as much as possible from now on as he makes his way back to Alexandria first, and then to Marseille and Paris.

\-------------

There's a weird noise going through the museum. A tic-tac of some sort, irregular, more pronounced as the minutes go by. No one could miss it in the silence shrouding the venerable place, except for the fact that this is the dead of night and no one's around to hear anything.

The noise can be traced back to a room most beloved by children and all those who enjoy the memories of our planet's distant past and its first inhabitants. The dinosaurs' skeletons are complete and scary enough to imagine with clarity what they must have looked like, alive and loose in the wilderness.

Curiously, the noise seems to come from within the gigantic egg of a long-dead kind of pterosaur. The eggshell is cracking, slowly at first, but then a big chunk of it falls to the floor of the glass cage protecting it from thousands of visitors' hands.

A beak appears.

A long beak, which reveals two rows of sharp teeth. And then the head attached to that beak pushes more of the eggshell out of its way. Big, round eyes blink a few times, adjusting to the wan light offered by the glass roof. The moon is large and beautiful tonight, looking down with benevolence at the newborn, and it seems her call is like the lure of its long-dead mother.

The baby pterosaur fights her way out of the egg and soon her whole body is free.

She stumbles out of the confines of the box, down to the floor, before she gathers her legs and manages to stand up, still partially wobbly but getting more confident with each step. At the same time, she tries to flap her wings. This trick is a little more arduous to master but soon the baby – whose wings span more than two meters in width, strong enough to send precious bones flying around with each flap – is able to take off. A few centimeters at first, and then a few more. More and more, until the moment she doesn't have to land back between flaps.

The pterosaur flies above the remembrance of other species of immemorial times that found, just like her, a new home inside the huge room of the museum. Such stillness is unnerving to her ; atavism is at play in the feeling that the biggest skeletons are downright scary. It's more than time to make a run for it and find something to fill the hole she can feel constantly growing down in the middle of her body.

The baby eyes the moon and aims for it. The glass roof is no match and cracks under the attack of the long, hard beak. It lets the newborn fly away as shards of glass and moonlight fall inside the museum.

\-------------

There's a huge, black shape flying above the Museum of Natural History. Soon, it veers towards the Place de la Concorde, then glides over the Seine, silent and creepy, gliding through high currents of chilly night air.

A few passersby spot the dark shadow looming over their heads, but most of them are drunk, just getting out of disreputable places. They think they're hallucinating, making the size of a bird more than it really is.

One of them is called Victor Roger. He's definitely drunk out of his gourd, and there's nothing remarkable about him as he makes his way back home. Not even the yellow lights he imagines swirling in and out of the window at the top of the building right in front of him.

The other guys are out for some shady business they prefer not to advertise, so they choose to ignore what their eyes are showing them and go on with their lives of crime.

The moon casts the animal's solid shadow right above a shiny, black car driving above the Pont Royal. Inside, senator Francis Devereaux is busy kissing his mistress, a cancan dancer named Violette Duval. Her stage name is la Môme Rubis, and that's what Devereaux calls her.

He's too busy having fun with Rubis, his left hand mimicking a snake under the girl's frilly blouse, to realize before it's too late the danger lurking upon them. A shout from the driver is all the warning they get before the car is seized and pulled up.

It doesn't get very high, but it's enough for the driver to lose any control he ever had over the vehicle. And then the side of the bridge comes close. Too close. The car hits the balustrade, which crumbles under the onslaught. Francis Devereaux and la Môme Rubis have ceased to kiss, they're not even in each other's space anymore, grasping at whatever their hands meet to remain upright. Devereaux spares a thought for the piece of architecture his car has just destroyed, wondering if his constituents will forgive him for it – probably, people from the Orne care very little for what happens in Paris, unless the scandal is so big reporters hit the streets of his hometown and begin to ask too many loaded questions – before his scream joins Rubis' during the short fall into the river.

Victor Roger is the only witness as the car sinks, filled with murky, freezing water, trapping its three occupants.

"Oh my God !" he hiccups.

He already knows it's too late to save from drowning the driver and his potential passengers but he can't think of anything else to do at this point and so he runs, as fast as he can in his inebriated state, to alert the nearest police precinct.

That's the reason why he never sees the utterly drenched Rubis fighting her way out of the Seine up to the embankment.

\-------------

Donatello Redfield awakes. He's fallen asleep in his chair by his desk at home, at the end of a long day teaching students the wonders of physics. It was a good class. Drawing a lot from his book, Is there an afterlife ?, they talked about the scientist's responsibilities, the dos and don'ts of playing with the natural laws of the universe, the ones reigning over their planet and everything surrounding it. About playing God, basically.

He's not sure if this is the reason why he dreamed of bright yellow lights. He remembers the sensation of flying around, the wind in his hair. It was a glorious feeling, this unexpected freedom to roam above the city that has adopted him, admiring everything from over the rooftops. It felt like he was a bird, capable of inhabiting the skies as well as the ground, like he had no more limits, or just not the ones of his human, aging body.

Donatello stands up and begins to notice the terrible state of his apartment. It looks like the bird he's been dreaming about was let loose in here and papers are now lying around, knick-knacks all askew, and a few even fell down to the floor. The place is a mess, as if Donatello had tried in his sleep to emulate the flapping wings of a huge bird. Which is downright crazy and a little bit frightening, to be honest.

He looks fondly at the memorabilia of his many travels to Egypt speaking of his fascination with the pharaohs. Those were magnificent times and it's a shame mankind lost so much of the knowledge painstakingly written down by thousands of scribes. Donatello's legacy, more than his contribution to physics and teaching, will be the many spells and medicines he rediscovered.

He knows many things can be achieved if you know the right way to go at them. But becoming a bird ? Flying like one in your apartment ?

No, that was just part of the dream. The beautiful dream that ended with the bird seizing a car and throwing it into the Seine, he remembers that part now.

"Oh my God !" he squeaks.

Somehow, Donatello is pretty sure this wasn't just a dream.

\-------------

Balthazar Boldieu is not a happy man. He just had time to sit down in front of his juicy, medium-rare sirloin before the phone rang.

He's not a happy inspector either.

"Oh dear God !" Balthazar exclaims as he listens to the terrible news one of his deputies is relaying from the precinct.

Senator Devereaux is dead, just like his driver, dropped into the Seine by some big bird, the likes of which no one's ever seen in this country, not for millions of years anyway.

Considering he was just coming out of the Moulin Rouge, there's a good chance Devereaux wasn't going back home alone – his relationship with la Môme Rubis is of public notoriety, at least for the underworld, the press and the police – but, so far, the divers have only found the vehicle and two male bodies.

Boldieu knows, or rather knew Devereaux, a former inventor turned politician. An odd man, certainly, with very peculiar interests, that he met a few years back, when Devereaux was still prefect of the Orne, on the occasion of a big mystery that Balthazar solved for him : twenty men and women went missing from the asylum in Dreux, some of them found alive and not that crazy anymore. Even with many questions left unanswered, Balthazar earned them both a promotion, thanks to the relative fame of the case, when the most horrific details, leaked to local papers, found their way to the national press. That's how Balthazar got himself transferred to Paris, while Devereaux found the financial backup to start a real political career.

And then through the years, though not close at all, separated by their different lifestyles and social standings, Devereaux and Boldieu had helped each other.

It seems Balthazar is about to lend a final hand to his old comrade, discovering what's hidden behind this incredible story of a bird attacking a senator's car.

\-------------

Dean is bored out of his mind as he autographs copy after copy of his latest book, The Monster From The Cold. He usually is, unless some pretty girls or boys ask for his signature. Dean might be already in love, it doesn't mean he's blind.

So he passes the time making fun of the people gathering in line. The Spinsters make for the biggest part of his fans. These ones are self-explanatory so no need to elaborate. Next come the Boredom Kings and Queens, the occasional just-as-bored-as-him persons, who can't give a fuck about his writing but stand there looking for an added value to the gift they're planning on offering to the object of their affection. The Recalcitrant Types are the ones who would never admit to enjoying his books, and will not share a nice word with him, but found themselves in the queue because fate and hazard conspired against them, not their own free will, thus the frown and belligerent expression on their faces.

And then there're the Star-Struck ones. Those like the young man in front of Dean, right this moment, who looks at him like he hung the stars and he might poop gold. For those, Dean makes an effort. He suspects anyone can tell this is all very fake, but give him a break, he's just back from an exhausting trip and at least he's trying.

"What's the name ?" he asks.

"Mick," the young man stutters. "Mick Davies. With an e. And an i. And a s."

"All those letters in such a short name ! Congratulations."

The man looks like he's trying to make sense of Dean's words, and coming up short. But Dean closes the book over his dedication – _For Mick, he of the many letters_ – and offers it to Mick, calling for the next in line. He promised Benny. He's still got one hour of this mindless job in his near future, so he'd better get on with it before one starry-eyed half-wit makes him think gouging his eyes out might be a great idea.

He can't wait to see Sam. He thought he would go right from the train to his apartment but Benny knows him too well and Dean found him waiting for him at the railroad station. It made sense that the luck that had him traveling back to France without seeing Azazel or Crowley again wouldn't hold all the way and Dean gave in to the necessities of his job with as much grace as he was capable of. Which means not much, but Benny's not one to take offense. He knows Dean too well.

His publisher finally saves him from the endless line of fans. They spend the next few minutes shaking hands as they get closer to the exit door, and then finally manage to get outside at last.

The cab that brought them here is still waiting for them, which is a good thing because finding a cab in this city at this hour is more complicated than coming back from Egypt. But it's not going anywhere right this moment. Spooked horses are blocking the way and refuse to move over.

"This is the 20th century !" Benny mutters. "When are we going to forbid horses in Paris ?!"

Dean snickers. The French people he's met are usually stuck in their old ways, until the moment they interfere with what they want. But he's just as anxious as Benny to leave, and a memory comes to his mind, full of sand, heat and exotic animals.

He gets out of the car, followed by Benny, and yells the sentence he learned in Arabic.

It seems French horses are just as afraid of crocodiles as Egyptian camels. Soon, Dean and Benny are settled back in the cab taking them to Dean's place.

Éditions Lafitte are not the most notorious publishing company in Paris, but Benny cuts Dean a lot of slack, beginning with letting him call him Benny instead of Benjamin, or not getting mad when Dean makes fun of his English accent, and he's become a close friend. Benny knows Dean's whole world is made of his little brother and he's okay with that. Once Sam's nearly magical name has been uttered, Benny accepts without grudges that Dean went to Egypt, even though he was supposed to head toward Peru to find material and inspiration for his new book.

Dean tells him about his trip, especially the crocodiles – he can already imagine a scene in which statues turn into the real beasts, crunching on the poor men walking too close, and Benny loves it ! He even ends up wondering why Dean didn't stay longer to get more ideas.

The answer doesn't surprise him. Sam needs Dean.

\-------------

Balthazar Boldieu's mood has not improved since yesterday. It has a lot to do with the fact that everything's been conspiring to make sure he wouldn't find the time to eat.

He hasn't been able to get anything helpful out of the only witness of Francis Devereaux's death, one drunkard named Victor Roger. You'd think that in such a big city as Paris, many people would be there, even late at night, to see a big bird pushing a car into a river. But no, neither townsfolk nor tourists came forward to say they saw something that would make the president happy.

For Balthazar Boldieu asked his deputies to keep the high-profile investigation under the utmost secrecy. They all swore on it, and yet this morning's headlines were all about the mystery of the "giant killer bird."

Which made President Malvy unhappy enough that he called the Minister of the Interior and ordered him to have this pterosaur tomfoolery ceased immediately. The minister called the prefect and had a few choice words to express how pressing the matter was. The prefect called the Quai des Orfèvres and asked who was in charge of the case, because clearly this required the best man. Police Chief Hack was told he had 72 hours to get rid of the bird.

Hack called Balthazar Boldieu to say he had 24 hours to solve the mystery.

Yet, despite headlines bigger than a hen's egg and the newspaper sellers he can hear cackling right up to his third floor office, no one showed up, save for Victor Roger who alerted the police and is the reason why Balthazar's life has been so difficult for the last few hours.

So Balthazar's first order has been to put Victor Roger in a drying-out cell until alcohol is out of his system and his testimony might become a bit more logical.

Then he left for the Museum of National History, where a pterosaur's egg has been found suddenly hatched after a few million years gestating or something. He's not sure about this, but one of his deputies suggested he'd go investigate and find out if there's a correlation. Balthazar couldn't let him go alone, lest he's right and gets all the glory.

Balthazar Boldieu is not a big fan of scientists. They think they're so much smarter than the rest of the population. The one he interrogates, right in front of the broken egg, looks no different.

"I'm Inspector Boldieu," he introduces himself. "What's your name ?"

"I'm Professor Arthur Quetsche, and this is my assistant, Mick Davies."

"A rosbeef ?"

"Yes," the professor answers with a disdainful look, "Mick is indeed British."

Balthazar doesn't care about being considerate, just that his stomach is now growling again at the thought of the juicy piece of beef waiting for him at home, and that's all because of a word association and two scientists, one of them making it even worse by being a foreigner.

"So, what can you tell me about this ?" he asks, indicating the egg, to progress with the case and possibly get closer to his next meal.

He's suddenly salivating with the image of what a big omelet this huge egg would have made. Prepared with porcini, the way his granny used to do when he was a child, moist and delicious, in autumn with figs and walnuts on the side, and a good glass of red to wash it all down. Or maybe with lardons. Grated cheese would be great too.

"I'm sorry," Professor Quetsche brings his attention back to the case, "I'm not a Jurassic specialist."

"Well, my mission is to track down that beast and the person responsible for the killing. I don't have time to go visit Jura, this case needs to be solved in the next 24 hours."

Balthazar doesn't understand why Quetsche is looking at him that way. He's not stupid, thank you very much. Jura is several hours' drive away from Paris.

"I can recommend a specialist of another kind if you prefer," Quetsche offers. "Asmodée de Saint Hubert is a renowned hunter…"

"Right," Balthazar interrupts the flow of words designed to make him feel stupid once again. "Summon him, he might prove helpful."

"Can you let us know about your findings ?" Quetsche asks just as Balthazar turns to leave.

"Sure," he says, already walking away.

Balthazar's next stop is the rue de Rivoli, where a few strange, yellow lights were spotted by Victor Roger – and this time, a few others witnesses – in and out the apartment of one Professor Donatello Redfield. Once again, a foreigner. Foreign means troubles, that's Balthazar's motto. Foreign means he gets to investigate a case on an empty stomach.

He sends one of his deputies to buy him a few hard-boiled eggs at the closest café under the arcades before he joins them back up in Redfield's place.

The professor doesn't seem very happy to find the police on his doorstep.

"I was about to eat," he says, blocking the way with his body.

"Good," Balthazar answers, '"we were too."

And he pushes his way in.

The fact is, nothing indicates that Redfield is anywhere ready to eat, save for the big chunk of red meat on the floor. The room is dark, heavy drapes drawn to hide the light of day.

"Sorry it's so dark," the professor answers Balthazar's unspoken question, "my eyes are too sensitive."

"Maybe your meat wouldn't fall on the floor if you had a little more light on."

"Yes, you're right, but I can wash the steak."

Redfield leans down to pick up the meat that has Balthazar drooling once more with hunger. It's good his deputy is back at this moment with the eggs he's ordered.

There's a kind of flapping noise as Redfield grips the big steak.

"What was that ?" Balthazar asks, stopping before he can begin tearing the first eggshell apart.

"Nothing. The toucan."

Balthazar nods and goes back to his egg, thinking something is amiss but too hungry to dig deeper.

He's about to bite into the egg finally ready to be eaten when it dawns on him that said toucan is a painted wood representation, not any real bird able to make noise.

That's when all hell breaks loose. The drapes fly apart and a huge, bird-like shape explodes in the room. Balthazar and his men throw themselves down while the professor visibly tries to get the big beast to calm down by offering him the big piece of meat that it gobbles in one gulp.

It's all for nothing, and with angry cries and flaps, the pterosaur Balthazar's been looking for escapes once more through the window, flying too far away in a few seconds for the police guns to reach it.

"I'm sorry," Redfield tells him when he's back inside the devastated apartment. "It's the egg, she couldn't take it."

Balthazar is still shaking with fear but the view of his three hard-boiled eggs crushed on the floor, trampled by four men and one animal, makes him lose it for good.

"Take this guy into custody," he yells.

\-------------

Bobby opens the door and, as ruffled and gruff he might look, he's still a sight for sore eyes.

Dean is so fucking tired. Running around the world is not what it's all cracked up to be. A quick hug from a friend makes it better, though.

"How's Egypt ?" is all Bobby asks in lieu of greeting.

"Hot. But I did get what I was looking for."

He turns around and indicates the long box on the dolly Benny is pushing for him. Dean can't help the grin covering his face watching his sharp-dressed friend with the close cut beard working like a commoner and looking like he was made for this. He even seems to have fun, so really, who's Dean to stop him if Benny enjoys being helpful ?

"You shouldn't let that boy order you around," Bobby says to the publisher. "Put that here."

Apparently, he's got no problem telling Benny what to do when he's the one ordering him around.

Benny's cool as usual. He pushes the dolly right up to the place Bobby showed him and sets the box upright next to a glass cabinet.

Benny is also a true friend. He knows Dean's one and only desire right now is to be close to his brother, so he refuses the drink Bobby offers.

"I'll be on my way," he announces, "work is calling. Bobby, can I offer you a ride ?"

"Good idea. Dean, I'll be back later."

Dean is grateful and shows it with a smile.

"How is he ?" he can't help asking just before Bobby leaves.

"Not good. He missed you, asked for you for a while, wondered where you were, said you needed him, and then nothing."

Dean doesn't reply. He walks to the door and enters Sam's room without knocking. Knocking would mean to wait hours for an answer that might never come.

"Hey, Sam !" he says as he closes the door behind himself, putting as much life and joy in his voice as he can.

Even he can tell it's all fake, but with a bit of luck, in this state, Sam won't be able to tell the difference.

This state that Bobby so aptly described as nothing. Blank. No one's home, pass your way and go on with your life while Sam's taking a nap. He'll call you up in two months. Never mind the wide-eyed stare, the warm skin, the heartbeat. Sam's body might be alive, more and more often his mind resides in his own little world, far from this city, far from Dean. The barrier he puts up between them is not the kind you push through with a passport or a judicious application of money to the right pocket.

"I'm back," he continues as he walks to the bed Sammy's sitting in, propped on three fluffy pillows. "Went to visit Egypt. Lots of sand and stones, nice people, helpful guides. You wouldn't believe the heat ! And the crocodiles, jaws that big ! I don't recommend getting too close. I brought you a gift back. You're gonna love it ! But you need to be awake to enjoy it, so rain check, okay ?"

He leans down and brushes his lips against Sam's. He does it again, trying to coax his little brother out of his deep trance-like state, kissing harder, with more intent.

Sam is not responsive at all. It happens more and more and Dean feels the urgency deep inside his heart, to find the way to get him back. To find the cure for the needle protruding in the middle of his forehead.

He can't help taking the sheet off, disrobing Sam. He's knows he's being creepy, not to mention lewd, but he needs Sam, the feeling of his flesh, if not of his fingers on him. They've always been close and in love. As far as Dean remembers, they've lived for and thanks to each other.

They can't go separate for long. Even now, when there's a good chance Sam won't be able to respond, Dean has to be near his brother before long, lest he feel alone in the world, abandoned child with no hope to survive.

Once, at the beginning of this ordeal, Sam gave Dean a blanket authorization to play with his body, as a way to keep him grounded, tethered to this world. Maybe a way to make sure Dean wouldn't go look elsewhere, too, and behind the joke Dean could hear the real fear that his brother would find someone else with whom to share the intimacy Sam couldn't anymore. Every time Sam is lucid enough, he asks Dean about the way he made love to him while he was unconscious. Makes sure Dean loved him thoroughly, deeply, with all his heart and body.

So Dean sees this as being true to Sam's wishes. Making love to his brother's body is the only way for him to remind Sam of their love, of the need they share. Make sure that Sam knows Dean can't go on without him. It's nowhere near as good as fucking Sam out of his wits, and he just can't make himself imagine that's why Sam keeps silent while he takes him, but it's all he's got, the only solution to make sure Sam's body is still responsive enough and willing.

He kisses Sam's lips again, wets them with his tongue, and then pushes past them to enter Sam's mouth. Sam's breath is minty fresh, just like the rest of him smells of soap and clean, proof that Bobby took good care of him in Dean's absence. A part of Dean hates that someone else is allowed to touch his lover, but he trusts Bobby with his life. Better, he trusts Bobby with _Sam_ 's life.

"You're just as gorgeous as ever," Dean murmurs, as if Sam might hear him in spite of everything.

It's creepy as fuck, those long, elegant eyes that are open big to look at him and yet not seeing him. It used to affect Dean's performance. But nowadays, with Sam so often absent, it takes more than that to unravel Dean's strong libido.

On the contrary, Dean's mind has kinda made his peace with the fact that Sam doesn't ask for anything, doesn't show his pleasure. Whether it takes it as the ultimate challenge, or the proof that Sam always agrees with whatever Dean comes up in the heat of the moment, Dean's libido ratchets up every time he makes love to Sam. Worships his body in a way he's never done with anybody else, and Dean is a patient, thorough lover, one who invests time and dedication in the one he's with.

But Sam is in a class by himself. He deserves the best. He needs it, and Dean wants to give it to him. So the best he gets, and it means more time and dedication than anyone else. More time kissing and licking his whole body. More time playing with his tongue. More time stroking and caressing not only Sam's shaft and balls, not only the tiny hole that Dean covets so much, but also parts of his body that usually play no big part in making love but need to be reminded they exist and that they can feel good, too. Trying to coax an answer, any kind of answer out of his unresponsive brother.

And it's working ! There's a light in Sam's eyes that wasn't there when Dean first came in. It's getting more and more difficult to get Sam out of this trance state he slips into more and more often, but for this time at least, Dean knows he did it again ! Sam may not speak yet, or smile, or moan, but he begins to feel something again. So Dean keeps on worshiping his body and prepares him for the main event.

When finally Dean slides into Sam's ass, he's greeted by a slight exhale, a sound of contentment so perfect it almost breaks him.

He takes possession of his lover, reminds him they need to be together as he fucks him hard and fast. Sam's face gets more animated with each second, reflecting the pleasure he feels, and Dean makes sure to spread that pleasure through his whole body.

He knows he won't last long, not with this punishing rhythm he's got going. Not after the time they spent apart and the worry he carries around about Sam. Not with his own lust taking him toward an explosive climax.

But Sam is right there with him, just as close to the end, and conscious at last.

"I missed you," Sam says, and then moans deep and long when Dean pushes hard inside him for the last time.

They stumble together, in each other's arms, toward the most blissful moment. Sam falls first, giving into his newly awakened body's need for release, but Dean is hard on his heels, smitten with the way Sam looks when he's coming.

They take the time to catch their breath, letting their hands do the talking, reacquainting themselves with the other's body, the feeling of being together.

Dean loves those moments when Sammy's just happy to be back, all smiles and dimples. He looks like his own age, not weighed down with the pain and sorrow they've accumulated. He's all about the love they feel for each other. And for a few minutes, Dean can forget about Sammy's health and his fear that he's losing his little brother, the man he loves.

He doesn't know how long they have this time before unconsciousness calls Sammy back, but they're gonna do their best with that time.

"Come !" he says, "come and take a look at the gift I brought back for you."

They stand up still naked. Dean helps Sam clean a bit the mess they made in his ass and over his stomach, but then they leave the bedroom for the living room where the big box is still waiting for them.

"What is it ?" Sam wonders.

Dean takes the crowbar he prepared to that effect and opens the box so that Sam can see the mummy inside.

"Is that ?..."

"It is !" Dean crows triumphantly. "Sam, meet Patmosis, one of Ramses II's doctors. Pat, this is my little brother Sammy, the one I need you to cure. I know your medicine was very advanced, we only have to look at how well-preserved you are to know that."

Dean considers his little brother for a moment. When Sam's hair is done the right way, the needle disappears under his bangs. Nothing shows that Sam's life is in danger, and Dean struggles not to fall into this trap. He has to remain aware, at all times, that the sword of Damocles is not just hanging over Sam's head, it's already inside it, and the goal is to take it out without killing Sam once and for all.

Dean turns back to the mummy.

"I know, Sam looks good, too, not ill, but he does need your help. So I'm going to revive you."

And for that, Dean needs Professor Redfield.

\-------------

They've cleaned up more thoroughly and are almost fully dressed when there's a knock on the door. Dean opens it to find himself face to face with the young man he met a few hours ago at the autograph signing event.

"Mr. Winchester," the guy mumbles. "I thought I'd… leave a message for you."

There's indeed a letter in his hand that Dean snatches in the hope the guy will go away.

"Again with the letters, Mr. Davies."

"Ah, yes, I'm sorry, I didn't want to disturb you, just… you know… I thought…"

"Not enough, clearly. I'm sorry but I have to go. I'll read your message later in my bath."

Davies' eyes get three times bigger at the mention of Dean and bath in the same sentence.

"Dean, who is it ?" Sam asks from the bedroom.

"A fan," he shouts back. "Are you ready ? We need to go."

"Just a minute. Combing my hair."

Dean sighs and rolls his eyes at the same time. Sam is really like a girl sometimes, but he gets why he'd want to hide the needle in the middle in his forehead.

"Well," Dean says to Davies, "you heard the man, we're on our way. Thanks for visiting and for the letter."

Dean offers his hand to shake and that's when his eyes fall on the headline of the newspaper Davies is holding under his arm. He can't decipher everything, but he recognizes the name for sure.

Before his fan has brought his own hand up, Dean's stolen the newspaper and unfolded it to read the title that grabbed his attention.

"MAN ARRESTED IN THE GIANT KILLER BIRD CASE : PROSECUTOR ASKS FOR DEATH FOR PR. DONATELLO REDFIELD"

\-------------

"Redfield," the guard calls as he unbolts the door, "your lawyer's here to see you."

The professor raises his head to find a young man he recognizes immediately for not being his lawyer. He's donned a fake mustache and black attire to look the part, though.

For some reason, he's taken a shine to Dean Winchester, despite his lack of formal knowledge and his clear disinterest for everything that comprises Donatello's life. Dean shamelessly uses this sentiment.

As soon as the guard has closed the door back on Dean and walked away, Dean sits in front of Donatello and leans down to talk in a very hushed voice.

"I have the mummy," he says. "Patmosis, he's at my place. Now we just need you to revive him."

"I'm sorry," Donatello says for the umpteenth time today. "You'll have to wait. I'm busy controlling the pterosaur. Can you imagine that, Dean ? I managed to revive and hatch an egg laid 135 million years ago. I thought I'd do a test run before you'd come back with the mummy, and I did so much better than I thought."

"Right. So if you managed that one, a little 3000-year-old mummy is not about to scare you."

"I guess it would be easier, yes, but the beast is exhausting me. Its instinct is to kill, Dean. I need to keep it in line. I can't use my brain power for anything else."

"Yes, you can. You just need a bit of help, and that's what I'm here for. Trust me. You take care of curing my brother, and I'll take care of that bird for you."

Right then, Donatello's real lawyer shows up, and Dean, who now pretends to be a journalist out for a scoop, is thrown out of the prison none too gently.

\-------------

There's a big scramble on the Champ de Mars. A crowd of reporters and photographers fighting to be front and center when the car stops and the back door opens in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Asmodée de Saint Hubert gets out. He's wearing strange attire, costume and hat created for a safari rather than a stroll on an elegant Parisian avenue. Even the two bloodhounds now sitting at his feet look more feral than tame hunting dogs. But he takes the pose and offers his best profile to the photographers as they take shot after shot for their respective newspapers.

"Why are you here, Monsieur de Saint Hubert ?" one of the reporters asks.

"Considering my extensive knowledge of wild beasts, the police hired me to find the killer bird. I told them I would study the pterosaur's habits to catch it, so that the women and children of our beautiful city won't have to fear it anymore."

Next to him, Inspector Boldieu nods, the very image of the zealous police officer ready to put his life on the line to protect his fellow citizens.

"And how do you intend to do that ?" another reporter wonders.

"Simple. I'll follow him into his natural habitat. In the sky."

All eyes follow his as Asmodée looks at the huge tower, the highest summit in Paris.

\-------------

A tall, quite large woman enters the prison's kitchens, pushing a cart loaded with very unappetizing food with one hand, while with the other she brushes out of her face long bangs of blond hair that escaped her heavy bun.

"What’s on today’s menu ?" one of the guards asks her.

She’s not graceful, that’s an undisputable fact, but she's got mesmerizing eyes he’d like to lose himself in and lips to die for he's already imagining he could use for a very particular task.

"Pigeon," she snarls in reply, immediately leaving toward the cells as if she can sense the guards' thoughts.

\-------------

Pigeons are cooing, perched over the railing on the story of the Eiffel Tower Asmodée de Saint Hubert invaded to scrutinize the Parisian sky through one of the binoculars set all around the perimeter, looking for the dangerous beast he wants to add to his kill list. Saint Hubert's bloodhounds have tagged along, guarding their master.

Balthazar Boldieu is waiting for the deputy he sent to buy him a ham sandwich – with pickles, never forget the pickles - in one of the Tower's restaurants. He demanded that the baguette be well-cooked, the crust crunchy and flavorful.

"It's out there, Boldieu, I can sense it !" Saint Hubert says.

Balthazar's deputy finally comes back holding the best sandwich the inspector's ever seen. He grabs it but keeps his mouth closed on the thanks he should give, lest he might drool. He's so fucking hungry !

A peculiar noise distracts him from the marvel he's holding and he raises his head without conscious thought. He freezes.

Right above him, a huge bird-like creature he recognizes is gripping with sharp claws the metallic bars of the Eiffel Tower. Looking at Balthazar's sandwich with more than a little hunger.

Balthazar is just as terrified as the first time, but his stomach takes control and has him hiding the sandwich behind his own body. If the beast wants his meal, it'll have to fight him for it !

The pterosaur screeches in answer, revealing its presence to the dogs who leap to their paws and bark, and to all the other humans who look at it in their turn, screaming and running to hide. And then the beast takes flight to escape this dangerous place.

As a parting gift, it drops something terribly smelly and disgusting, right above Balthazar's head and his perfect sandwich.

\-------------

Something just as gross lands in the plate the woman passes through the bars and offers to a prisoner.

"What is it, exactly ?" the prisoner asks, more than a little wary of the vile gruel.

\-------------

"That's mutton," Asmodée de Saint Hubert concludes after examining Balthazar's head. "Believe me, I know that kind of stuff. You need to know about dung to track animals."

Balthazar considers head-butting him. It's probably just the big dogs that stop him from doing so.

\-------------

Voices are rising as a guard blocks the way to a woman trying to enter the prison's kitchens.

"I tell you my badge has disappeared ! I left it in my locker before I went home last night, and now it's not there anymore."

"So what's your name ?" the guard finally relents.

"Annie Haquin. Ask my boss, he'll vouch for me."

Not far from there, another woman keeps serving prisoners until she reaches the cell of one Professor Donatello Redfield.

It's just as the professor recognizes Dean Winchester under the woman's disguise that five guards come running to march him away and out of the prison.

\-------------

Asmodée de Saint Hubert takes a look at postcards of the Eiffel Tower while Balthazar puts the last touch to the quick cleaning up he had to do. It's not very thorough and the smell is still disgusting. He's pretty sure he'll have to throw his suit and hat away. And to make things worse, a young and pretty waitress walks hastily to him to announce they're out of rillettes.

"You know," Saint Hubert turns to him then, "there are only three places close enough where the pterosaur could have found the sheep it ate. At the feet of Montmartre, in Vincennes, and the Jardin des Plantes. So why don't we visit those places ?"

Because a criminal might revisit the place of his crime. Or a pterosaur might revisit the herd it knows it can feed from. Balthazar is not about to admit it aloud, but it's a good idea. One he should have had first. One he would have had, if he wasn't so hungry.

\-------------

"Thank you, my son," the priest says evenly as he enters the prison and passes the guard at the door, bowing his head in such a way that the hood he's wearing slides forward and hides his face even more.

He follows a second guard who doesn't realize the bunch of keys at his waist is gently lifted and stolen, nor that the priest suddenly takes another corridor and runs directly to a particular cell that he opens before the prisoner even realizes he's got a visitor.

"Donatello," the priest urges in a much deeper, pressing voice, "hurry up, we're leaving !"

They don't manage to go far before they're surrounded. Professor Redfield is locked away again in his cell and Dean is thrown out of the prison.

It's getting old, he thinks. Then he remembers one of his Dad's favorite sayings.

"A seemingly lost combat is the only one really worth fighting for. Chin up, Dean !"

With a resolute pace, Dean goes back home already thinking about the next disguise that will allow him to get inside the prison.

\-------------

Saint Hubert mimics shooting at one of the windmills over the hill of Montmartre. He targets right at the center of the wings and imagines sending the whole thing spinning out of control, sharpshooter extraordinaire. It'd roll over the place, slicing and dicing humans and animals alike. And then Vlad and Spike would bring him back today's kill, lay it at his feet to show everyone Asmodée is the best hunter out there.

Boldieu joins him to say the farmer is sure, he counted his flock twice, no sheep is missing.

"Okay," Saint Hubert accepts, "let's go to Vincennes."

He lowers his rifle but, for some reason he prefers not to dwell on, the shot just goes off by itself.

A sheep collapses in the field below.

"Raphaël," Boldieu shouts to one of his deputies, "fetch the veterinarian !"

\-------------

The doctor is sporting a big beard and sideburns, and he holds just as big a syringe.

"Special treatment for a special prisoner," he explains in the weirdest southern accent the guard's ever heard.

They don't go that far into the prison before the guard feels the needle planting itself in his left ass cheek, and soon he crumples to the floor with a high-pitched cry that he will deny ever uttering till the day of his death even though this is the last thing he hears before he falls asleep.

Dean makes it without problem to the corridor he's looking for, and then to the professor's cell. Soon, he opens the door and shakes the prisoner's arm to wake him up.

"Come back later," Redfield grumbles, the ungrateful bastard. "I'm too tired."

Donatello turns away from him and snores for good measure. Dean stands there, mouth agape in the middle of his fake bushy beard.

"Well, that takes the cake !"

He wants to shake Donatello awake, urge him out, but suddenly feels bad about all of this. It's true that the older man has a bad heart, and the whole ordeal must have taken its toll on him. Controlling the beast, worrying about being arrested, it's bound to make him tired. Donatello does need to sleep.

\-------------

Saint Hubert (and his dogs) is out at night with Balthazar (and his three deputies), checking the fields of the farm in Vincennes the pterosaur might have raided for food.

But once again, the farmer is positive that all his animals are accounted for.

Which means there's only one place left where they stand a chance to find the pterosaur : the Jardin des Plantes, next to the place where it was born.

\-------------

Sam can't sleep and he's worried. So far, Dean has been thrown out of the prison every time he managed to get in under a new costume. But Sam fears they might keep him in after a while, to prevent any other attempt that will ridicule them a bit more every time.

He doesn’t want Dean to end up in a French prison where burly prisoners will take a shine to his beautiful brother and try to seduce him, to say it politely. Dean’s very good at making friends everywhere he goes, and he knows how to defend himself, but his French is not that great that he’d be able to diffuse an explosive situation easily. On the contrary, he might just piss off the wrong persons. It might be bad, very bad.

And where will that leave Sam if Dean is locked away in a cell ? Dean is the only one able to bring him back from his fugues, but he doubts the French penitentiary system would allow for spousal visits between brothers, especially if Dean has to come to Sam. And though he doesn’t say it in front of Dean, chances are that he’s slowly dying, living his last months or days on this planet. It's in fact a very likely possibility.

He doesn’t really want that life anyway, being a constant worry and a burden to Dean or Bobby who have to take care of him as if he were still a small child unable to wash and dress himself. Not even mentioning the most unsavory parts of caring for a sick person. Sam just doesn’t want to go there.

What he wants is to spend his last days in Dean's arms. Fading away for the last time feeling Dean's lips on his own.

\-------------

"Changing of the guard !" an old, paunchy man announces.

The young guard, fast asleep on the other side of the bars, jumps on his bench as the older man hits the big key he's holding up against the metal.

It's six in the morning, and the young guy loses no time leaving his post to his colleague's care and hurrying to his bed, hastily throwing behind his back mumbled words that might have been 'Hang in there !'

The pot-bellied guard begins his round, leisurely, but as soon as he's turned behind the first corner, out of anyone's eyes, the man suddenly runs toward the corridor where Professor Redfield has been imprisoned and opens the door.

"Donatello, I hope you've slept to your heart's content, because this is now or never !"

The sleeping form gently moves to sit, blanket falling away, and this is not the face of Donatello Redfield that looks back at Dean.

"Who are you ?!" Dean asks. "This is Professor Redfield's cell."

"Sorry," the young convict yawns, "they transferred him. They do that for the condemned prisoners. They spend their last day in a special cell."

"No," Dean denies, "it can't be. It's too soon. He was just arrested."

The guy seems to understand Dean's fear and offers the only kind of support he can.

"You never know, maybe the president will pardon him."

Dean keeps looking at him, willing his brain to engage but unable to do so for a moment. If they behead Donatello, all of Dean's efforts will have been for nothing, and Sam… No, Sam is going to be better soon, and Donatello will help. Dean just has to find a way to get to him. Unless he might talk to the president…

"Thanks," he says to the prisoner for giving him the idea that might be his last chance to solve this impossible situation.

He runs the other way without looking back, ready to leave the prison on his own terms this time.

\-------------

President Gaëtan Malvy has been in office for a few years already, and it's an open secret, especially at the Élysée Palace, that he enjoys the company of men as much as he adores women.

Dean's met him at a gala or three where Benny dragged him, kicking and screaming. Benny claimed that showing Dean's face around was the best publicity he could come up with, along with his charming accent and deep voice, the whole package that would make all the ladies swoon and buy his books in a hurry. Benny was also pretty sure that Dean's erotic stories would make a big splash in the good society, among women kept in leash by their husbands and priests and left to feel undesirable and frustrated.

It seems Benny was right, for his books have been selling like hotcakes, but they were not only bought by women. President Malvy is a big fan too.

Dean has taken great care of looking extra good before visiting the Élysée, so much so that Sam asked questions Dean knew he wouldn't like the answer to. He insisted on coming with Dean, pretending to want to see the presidential palace, but Dean's pretty sure it was in fact to make sure Dean wouldn't succumb to the presidential lure.

Sam has nothing to worry about, really. Malvy seems like a nice enough fellow – for a country's president and everything the title implies – but the bushy grey beard and the swirly mustache are not that attractive. The facial hair fashion men follow these days is straight out of a collective nightmare and Dean has no wish to get closer acquainted with Malvy's face. The only lips he dreams about are Sam's, the only cheeks he likes to nuzzle are also on Sam's muttonchops-free face. Power and money are not attractive enough to Dean to overcome his total lack of desire for the head of the French government.

But he lets Sam tag along. He figures fresh air might be good for his little brother, and Malvy won't make a move on him in another man's presence. Dean can promise the president anything in order to secure Donatello's pardon, and then come up later with any kind of excuse to renege on their deal. Once Sam is cured, they won't need to stay in this country anyway. It's only because the doctors have forbidden Sam to travel after his accident that they're still here, on the wrong side of the Atlantic Ocean.

The Élysée palace is something they clearly won't forget anytime soon. Dean doesn't know how someone would want to live in a place so full of art and gold that it looks like a museum. He sure wouldn't like it. He wants to feel somewhat at home wherever he chooses to settle down, to be able to put his feet on the table and balance on his chair. He's pretty sure such things would be frowned upon, here.

Of course, Sam looks at everything in awe, admires the paintings and furniture, asks clever questions that endear him to the guy in tailcoat showing them the way to the president who, as they learn, is taking a break in the garden, playing with his dog.

"Mr. Winchester," Malvy greets him, "what an unexpected pleasure to welcome you to my humble abode."

"The pleasure's all mine, Mr. President," Dean answers almost unctuously. "Allow me to introduce my little brother, Samuel, who was eager to meet you and see this humble abode of yours."

"Mr. Winchester," Malvy offers his hand to Sam this time, "I'm delighted to meet you too, and sincerely hope my house lives up to your expectations."

"It does, and then some," Sam answers with his most alluring smile. "Mr. President, it's a great honor for me to be here, thanks for having me."

Dean doesn't really like the calculating way with which Malvy admires Sam. He feels proprietary all of a sudden and decides it's time to delve into the reason why they're here. But not before he tries to get Sam far away from Malvy's paws that still haven't let go of Sam's hand.

"Your parents must have been both very beautiful to gift the world with two perfect boys like you," the president compliments them both.

Dean puts a hand on Malvy's arm, who turns back to him with the same hungry look. Dean's pretty sure the man wouldn't be averse to getting them both inside his bedroom for a bit of private fun. A "partie fine" as they call it here, which translates into thin party and means nothing, unless you realize that the only thin thing there is the space left between naked participants.

Dean doesn't like this idea one bit when Sam is included. He really needs to get his brother away.

"Sam's handsomeness is nothing next to the power of his brain," Dean brags. "Give him a book and you'll have made a friend for life in him."

Malvy falls immediately into Dean's trap.

"The palace does have books. Our library is nothing huge but I think you might enjoy it anyway. Would you like to see it ?"

"I would love to," Sam smiles, delighted.

Sam is a lot less happy when he realizes Dean and the president are staying behind. The guy in a penguin suit is back to lead him to the _Bibliothèque Napoléon III_ so Sam has to follow, but not before sending Dean a withering look that seems to say 'Be careful' and 'You will pay for this' all at the same time.

Dean loses no time waiting for an opportunity. He links his arm to Gaëtan Malvy's and leads him further inside the garden, farther from the republican guards' ears. Napoléon, the president's tiny dog, runs in front of them, smelling each blade of grass and marking his territory on quite a few of them.

"Mr. President," Dean begins, "ever since your election, you've been a strong advocate against death penalty."

"Absolutely. So far, while in office, I pardoned twenty men and women."

"Which is exactly the reason for my presence here today. I know you'll want to avoid killing an innocent."

"You sound pretty sure. Who's the man we're talking about ?"

"Professor Donatello Redfield. He's been unfairly accused in the first place, and then the haste with which he's been condemned should tell you how bad this trial smells."

"I see. This professor is a compatriot of yours, isn't he ? I understand why you would feel bad about it, but this affair can't go unpunished. Two people died, one of them a renowned politician, in the pterosaur's attack."

"Exactly ! The _bird_ 's attack, not the professor's ! On the contrary, he's the only one who knows how to rein it in. Think about it, Mr. President. If the professor is beheaded, who can tell how many more will die ?"

Dean can see he gave Malvy food for thought, but the man's not convinced yet. The Yorkshire terrier brings his master a ball he found in a bush and Malvy absently throws it away.

"I put my best men on this case," he answers Dean. "They will catch the bird."

"I'm sure you did, but what if they don't catch it soon enough ? I know you don't want that burden on your conscience. Not someone like you, who's really invested in the needs and well-being of his electors."

Dean goes for the kill, putting his hand on the president's arm again and squeezing.

"Professor Redfield is one of the best scientists out there, and he loves this country so much that he decided to live here and train French students to achieve the best they can do, in their career as well as their personal lives. You need him alive, sir."

Once again, the Yorkie brings the ball to play and Malvy obliges.

"And what's in it for you ? What's your relationship with the professor ?"

Dean hesitates. The complete truth will make him look like a lunatic, but he thinks Malvy might be able to tell if he tries to pretend to be there only to do the right thing.

"My brother," he stammers, still unsure, "Sam, he's sick."

"Sick ? He's tall, and strong," Malvy says, licking his lips. "He doesn't look sick."

"Not always, you're right. Not today. But he's… catatonic. More and more, he falls into a state that looks like sleep, if not for the staring spell, and there's nothing you can do to wake him up. We fear his brain won't be able to keep working if this goes on for too long. That his body will waste away."

"And you believe the professor to be able to do something for him ?"

"I know so. I've been searching for the ingredients Donatello needs to cure him and I'm ready at last. But I need the professor alive to work his magic."

This time, it's Malvy who puts his hand on Dean's arm in support.

"So you see," Dean continues, "if you let this parody of justice follow its course, you can already expect one more death."

Unless Malvy is familiar with Donatello's life and work, there's a good chance he's wondering when a physics professor became an expert about the cure for catatonia. But he's mostly a good guy, and Dean's sorrow shuts him up.

"I promise I'll think about it," he offers.

The president throws the ball away again, as far as he can, and Napoléon uses the whole power of his very short legs to catch it. Dean and Malvy watch him at first, but soon turn at the same time upon hearing a door in the palace open violently, closely followed by a warning scream.

"Dean !" Sam shouts as he runs toward them.

"Sam, calm down !" Dean orders, not knowing what's got Sam beside himself with such obvious worry, just that the doctors said he needs to avoid that kind of stress. "You know you can't exert yourself like that !"

The republican guards have begun to run after Sam, sensing a possible threat to the president, and Dean fears a giant melee that will hurt Sam more than he can take.

But then a shadow blocks the sun that so far was shining over Dean and the president, and he can see what got Sam's panties in a twist. The pterosaur is here, flying right toward them like a cannonball, huge wings fully deployed.

In a final effort to get Dean out of danger, Sam throws himself at him and the president. His long arms manage to grab them both and they all end up sprawling on the lawn. Dean's breath leaves his lungs in a rush with the shock of landing on the ground but his hands grab Sam on their own volition, making sure he won't hurt his head more than it already is.

"I saw it from the window," Sam explains, panting, "and I thought it was going to attack you."

"I know, sweetheart, I know."

His eyes still lost in Sam's, Dean caresses his selfless little brother's face with all the love he feels for him. But then Sam is torn away from him by two guards while two others help the president to his feet and make sure he's not hurt.

Once Dean is up too, the guards are now a physical barrier between him and President Malvy.

He wonders why the pterosaur showed up here when it could have gone anywhere in the biggest French city and found something much more interesting to eat that a scrawny dog, which seems to have been the bird's goal all along since Napoléon and his ball are nowhere to be seen.

Dean just hopes the president won't realize his four-legged companion has disappeared before they're far, far away.

"Let that man go," Malvy says to the guards securing Sam, who immediately obey and release him.

And Sam falls back down in Dean's arms, unconscious again.

Dean falters under his weight but he hangs on. The needle in the middle of Sam's forehead is there for everyone to see, bangs disheveled after the way Sam threw himself at them before he was manhandled by the guards. Dean turns to Malvy to explain it all, but Malvy is not looking at them.

"Poléon ?" the president suddenly calls, and Dean sighs with disappointment that his plan is going more and more haywire.

The ball the dog was playing with the last time they saw him falls at their feet, just like Sam did. Everyone looks up to see Napoléon carried away, stuck inside the big claws of the Jurassic monster.

Dean's pissed. It's not bad enough that his worry about Sam has ratcheted up again, now the president's going to think he led the bird here and Sam's got to bear the brunt of the president's anger about the pterosaur's attack.

But then Malvy surprises Dean.

"I'll have Professor Redfield immediately released," he says as he turns toward Dean a very worried face. "Under one condition. Mr. Winchester, do what you need to do about your brother, but promise me you'll bring Poléon back."

\-------------

It was Asmodée de Saint Hubert's idea to put sheep decoys in plain view for the bird to come close enough that he could shoot it. But it's Balthazar the three decoys, namely his three deputies Gabriel, Raphaël and Mickaël, hold responsible for decking them out with fake sheep fur. Wool. Whatever.

They do look dumb like that, walking around on all fours, hidden under some dirty-grey, curly fleece, and Balthazar wishes he could get a photograph for next year's police calendar. Or maybe next month's almanac, he's not picky.

It feels good to mock his men ; it's partly revenge for being so hungry he could eat one of the fake sheep himself. Instead, he takes naps as often as he can because he hasn't slept nearly enough either. If the bird finally shows up, Saint Hubert is armed and ready, he doesn't need Balthazar.

\-------------

The pterosaur lets the little dog go before it lands next to him inside the pen. Instantly, while the Yorkshire terrier begins to sniff around, the bird walks over to the nest that has been prepared for it on top of a small hummock and inspects it at length before finally settling in the middle of the branches and leaves for a nap.

"Incredible !" Professor Quetsche says from his hiding place behind the bushes. "How did you manage that ?"

"Well," Mick answers, "I did a little research. I read pterosaurs were sedentary creatures, so I gathered all the pieces of eggshell left at the museum and brought them here. To give the dinosaur a sense of home, you know."

"Good instinct !" Quetsche praises him. "You'll go far, lad, I can tell."

"Thank you, Professor. It means a lot coming from you."

"So now, what do we do with the pterosaur ?"

\-------------

The first thing Dean sees back home is that Bobby took the mummy out of the box and put it inside the glass cabinet. Patmosis is very still, too still. He looks right inside Sam's bedroom through the open doors, unseeing eyes of the mummy staring deep into the unseeing eyes of his brother as they set Sam down on the bed.

Dean would normally let Sam sleep his exertion off a lot longer before he tries to wake him up. But they don't have time today. He needs Sam alert, or at least conscious enough that he'll be able to play his part if need be once Donatello's here.

So with Bobby's help, he disrobes Sam, explaining to their friend everything that happened at the Élysée while they tend to his little brother and run a bath. Once everything is ready, they lift Sam up again and put him in the bathtub, and then Dean sends Bobby away under the sketchiest pretense.

As soon as Bobby's gone, Dean undresses and slips into the tub, right behind his brother's gorgeous body. He doesn't touch at first. He watches. Fills his eyes and soul with the beauty that makes his blood rush through his veins, the man he fell in love with so many years ago. He knows he's failed him, in many ways, but he hopes he'll get the chance to redeem himself today. God willing, and Donatello succeeding, Sam will be safe at last, ready to live again just like a young man should.

And that includes of course being made love to at every opportunity.

Dean leans down and gently pinches Sam's right nipple. Sam is so sensitive there, it's always a good place to start waking him up. It used to be the same, back before Sam got injured, and Dean loves to keep some semblance of normalcy in their lovemaking.

Sam's left nipple is just as sensitive, if not more, and Dean spends a few long seconds showing it how much it is loved while his other hand begins to remind Sam's whole body that he's alive and needed.

Dean hears Sam taking a deeper breath and rejoices. Maybe the fact that Dean didn't let him dwell too long inside his own head will help in the end, whatever the doctors told him. He perseveres, kissing Sam's nape and rubbing both nipples harder, faster, doing his best to entice Sam into opening his eyes again.

He lets his left hand slide in a firm caress down Sam's abdomen until it reaches his big, already half-hard cock and grips it amorously, immediately stroking the shaft in the way Dean knows pleases Sam the best. And once again Sam's breath hiccups.

His right hand slides down too but takes another path, going around Sam's hip to find his ass and then Sam's hole. Two fingers rub at it, quickly earning an answer with the clenching and unclenching of the sphincter that soon opens to let them in.

That's when Dean sees it, the fat head of the pin stuck into his brother's head. He sees it so clearly, the way they sit against each other, and he can't help the images flooding his mind.

_The transatlantic steamer is by far the biggest boat, ship, whatever – hell, the biggest anything ! – they've ever been in. They're sailing toward France, and it's not a prospect that makes Dean that happy. He doesn't know a word of the language, for one thing, and then he heard they eat strange things like snails over there. But the crew is French, and some of the guys and waitresses are quite cute, not to mention that there's been no snail so far on the first class menu, so maybe he'll be able to survive the experience. His French publisher seems like a great guy who enjoys their stories very much and Dean looks forward to meeting him. And then, as Sam says, they're not heading there to live the high life, but to chase the monster that got away._

_It doesn't stop Dean from grinning hard every time someone he interrogates about the guy they're looking for smiles at him and gives him the once-over, discreet or shy but clearly interested. He smiles even more when Sam, jealous but refusing to admit it, drags him back to their cabin to remind Dean that he's spoken for and demands to be taken hard and deep._

_On the fourth day, as they come always nearer to their destination, they spot a familiar figure – they don't know his face but they'd recognize this silhouette and the mocking laugh anywhere – that they trail inside the machinery. But then the trail turns into an ambush._

_They're outnumbered, six against two, but they don't back down. The guys are big and muscled, dirty and sweaty, workers taken over by black-eyed demons forcing them to attack. Only the guy they were looking for stands on the side, face still in deep shadows, probably waiting for Dean and Sam to be subdued to enter the fray._

_But things don't go his way. Sam and Dean put up one hell of a fight. Dean uses the demon knife on two workers and Sam manages to exorcise the four others. Their prey is left unaffected by the exorcism – probably human, then – and soon he comes closer._

_That's how they meet Azazel. The man is short and his face is nothing remarkable. He's holding something in his right hand that looks like a magician's wand, only much thinner._

_"Mr. and Mr. Winchester. It's an honor to make your acquaintance and to be the one you're chasing."_

_"And you are ?" Dean asks._

_"Azazel, sorcerer extraordinaire. I hope you've heard of me ?"_

_"Not in the slightest," Sam spits._

_"I'm very disappointed."_

_These words are said in the tone of a professor who thought his students to be far more brilliant and Dean can see his nerdy brother bristle at the thought._

_"Well, maybe your actions didn't speak loud enough to warrant interest among hunters," Dean suggests._

_"Really ? So killing your mother wasn't enough ?"_

_There's no power in the world that would be able to stop Dean or Sam from launching themselves at the man. But Azazel raises his hand, muttering words in Latin, and they both go flying against the greasy, hot machines._

_By the time Dean manages to open his eyes and look around for danger, Azazel is gone, and Sam is still lying on the floor._

_Dean crawls toward his little brother to find him eyes open but unresponsive to the shaking or Dean's anguished shouts._

_"No, no, no, no," Dean chants, feeling for a pulse._

_Sam's still alive, that much Dean can tell, but he can't seem to move or even see. And there's something pointing out of his forehead. Something embedded from the other side of his skull, going through Sam's brain. Something Azazel was holding in his hand when Dean first saw it._

_"Somebody calls a doctor ! Docteur !" Dean yells, terrified._

"Dean," Sam moans, bringing him back to the present.

Sam wiggles on the three fingers impaling him, getting across better than clearly that he wants more.

And Dean resolutely turns away from the bad memories to take his fingers out and replace them with his dick.

No doctor ever told him that piercing Sam that way might do him harm, not like the needle in his brain is going to kill him sooner or later. No doctor ever said that sex was forbidden to his sexy little brother, like traveling to get back to their country is. No doctor will ever prevent him from loving Sam so much that he'll have no other choice than coming back to him if he ever does die.

No doctor was able to tell him either that the needle is not some random object you can find on a ship, whatever its size. Bobby was the one who found out when Dean called to tell him about Sam's catatonic state and ask for his help.

The needle is a demonic tool. That's probably why Sam is not dead yet. But there's no way to tell what it's doing to Sam, screwed inside his head for the better part of a year now.

"Dean, make love to me," Sam demands in his drowsy voice, the one Dean can't quite disobey for its weakness totally disarms him.

"I love you," he murmurs in Sam's ear, leaning over to avoid the view of the needle.

In answer to Sam's pleading, he thrusts deep and hard, aiming for the prostate again and again. Sam gasps, his hand looking for his cock. It moves slowly, haphazardly, as if he's still mostly asleep but knows what he needs enough to reach for it. And it's not long before Sam comes, whereas Dean keeps on going after his own pleasure. The feeling of the water all around them, Sam's body completely relaxed against his but moving in time with him, responsive, Dean doesn't want any of it to end.

It doesn't last nearly long enough, whatever Dean might wish. It's never enough, not when he wants to claim Sam for all time, tether them to each other for all eternity to make sure Sam won't die alone, and knows he always falls short of the mark.

Climaxes are bittersweet, fulfilled body and worried soul.

"I won't leave you," Sam reassures him, sensing his mood.

"You better not, or I'll have to find a way to bring you back. And you know I'm prone to make a big mess without you by my side."

"I know," Sam confirms in a chuckle.

"How do you feel ?" Dean asks, grabbing the soap to get to the washing part of the bath.

"Still half-asleep. How long was I out ?"

"A few hours. I just brought you back from the Élysée before we got you into the bath."

"What did the president say ?"

"He agreed to free Donatello so that I can get his Yorkie back."

"What ?"

"You heard me. You saved us but I think the pterothor was after the dog rather than us. I'm not sure if Poléon's still alive or already digested chow mein, but I promised the president I'd bring him back. To be honest, I'd have promised to send him to the moon to get Donatello released."

It's a proof of Sam's exertion that he doesn't pick up on Dean's voluntary mistaken name for the dinosaur. Making love wakes him up, but it also takes a toll. So Dean keeps washing him energetically, to ensure he doesn't fall asleep again.

"Come on," he says once he's done with both Sam's and his washing. "Donatello will be here soon, we need to get ready."

Sam mobilizes all his strength to help Dean get him out of the bathtub.

"Wait here !" Dean orders once Sam is propped against the sink, and then leaves for the living room with a towel that he spreads over a chair and its armrests.

He's going back to the bathroom when he spots a letter on the floor, one that has evidently been pushed under the door. He detours to fetch it, but throws it on the couch as soon as he reads the sender's name. Mick Davies is one persistent stalker, that's for sure !

He takes the time to dry himself and dress before taking Sam to the living room and sitting him on the chair. There, he busies himself with drying off his brother before he can dress him too. He hardly has enough time to kiss him once he's done before the doorbell chimes. It better not be Davies !

Two police officers flank Donatello, as if the professor is not exactly free. The president probably gave strict orders to deliver him to Dean only, and Dean can't say that he minds. In fact, it might make his life a lot easier.

"Thank you, officers. That'll be all." Dean says before he grabs Donatello by his coat to get him inside and closes the door on the two other startled men.

"Dean," the professor begins, "I guess I have to thank you for being free, and not headless, but you know I need to…"

"You need to take care of Sam's problem. I promised the president I would take care of the bird."

"Really ? How do you propose to do this ?"

Donatello sits down on the couch and makes a little wave to acknowledge Sam's presence, that Sam answers in the same fashion.

"Well," Dean answers as he stands next to Sam, "I figured with your link to the bird you could find out where it is and I'll go fetch it."

"First, the pterosaur is a girl, and I'm sorry, Dean, but that's not the way it works."

"Then do you have a better idea ?"

"Not really. You have to remember that this is not some regular pigeon we're talking about."

"But you said you were able to control it. You have to sense it somehow, don't you ?"

"I do, but it doesn't tell me where she is, nor does it make the pterosaur susceptible to answer my call if she doesn't want to."

"So what kind of communication do you share ?" Sam asks.

"I send her peaceful images. Forests mostly, rivers and plains. Eggs, too, like her own. I try to keep her calm, force her to ignore her appetite."

"Hopefully, it worked and Poléon is still alive," Dean mutters.

"I'm sorry ?" Donatello inquires.

"Nothing. So, since we can't do anything about the bird, now might be a good time to wake up Patmosis."

"Not yet, Dean. I told you, I can't divide my attention. We need to solve the pterosaur's problem before I can help you and Sam."

Dean can see that the professor is exhausted, but it doesn't make him more patient. With a sigh and a pout, he lets himself fall into the comfy cushions of the couch to sulk and think of a way to possibly change Donatello's mind.

There's something under his ass. Something squeaking until he retrieves it and brings to light the latest letter Davies wrote him. He's about to throw it away when he remembers how he learned about Donatello's arrest thanks to his fan. He's quick to open the envelop and unfold the paper covered in a neat handwriting and a short message.

_Mr. Winchester,_

_I'm sorry to act like a crazy stalker, but I thought you might find it entertaining, or maybe even interesting for your next book, considering what you like to write about, to know that I've located the prehistoric monster lurking around Paris. If you'd like to see it, I'll be waiting for you at the Jardin des Plantes, in the pen close to…_

Already getting to his feet, Dean quickly browses through the end of the letter.

"Professor, I need to go. Please, take care of Sammy. Bobby Singer will be back soon."

"What ? Where are you going ?" Donatello worries.

"I'm answering nature's call."

Sam turns his tired eyes toward him.

"I don't think that means what you think it means."

"Yeah ? Well, whatever. Don't go anywhere, you two."

Dean's out before Sam has time to protest anymore.

\-------------

Dean easily hails a cab and then the drive to the Jardin des Plantes only takes a few minutes. Once there, he has to ask twice for the pen and other milestones Davies indicated in his letter, but finds his way in record time.

Only to find himself behind a man dressed in strange attire that would feel more at home in some faraway, wild African country than in a tame park in the middle of Paris. But the man might look ridiculous, he's aiming for the bird Dean's been searching for !

Dean doesn't even stop at the idea that killing the pterosaur could be the end of his problems. Something tells him to act right now, so he does.

He picks up a rock and then whistles. Surprised, the masquerade hunter looks at him only to see Dean kicking the light out of him with a hit right to the head. As the man goes down like a sack of bricks, his rifle goes off, but the bullet gets lost in the branches, right over the head of the two men standing vigil in front of the dinosaur bird.

Davies and his companion drop down as if to take cover, before they turn toward Dean and discover, unconscious on the ground, the man who was about to kill the quite special reject from the past they've been trying to hide.

"Dear God," the older man next to Davies says. "That's Asmodée de Saint Hubert."

"You know that guy ?" Dean asks, wary.

"I do. I even recommended him to the police to track the pterosaur. But I didn't think the ruffian would try to kill such a wonderful specimen."

"Mr. Winchester," Davies intervenes, "allow me to introduce my mentor, Professor Arthur Quetsche."

"Quetsch ? As in that great schnapps they do in the East of the country ?"

"Almost. Quetsche with an e at the end, like the fruit."

"So do your lovers say you're a real plum ?" Dean asks with a cheeky grin.

"No doubt they would, provided the joke would work in French too."

Dean can see he hit a nerve, so he keeps on the tip of this tongue the next pun about the professor's plum job and does his best to put a serious expression on his face.

"So, this is the big bird everybody's talking about ?" he says as he walks to the pterosaur.

Immediately, the beast's eyes lock on him and Dean feels the power emanating from it. From her, since the professor insisted the dinosaur was a lady.

"Careful, Mr. Winchester," Davies warns him, but Dean ignores the advice.

"Hey, girl," he murmurs as he keeps approaching. "I have a friend who's eager to see you. How do you feel about coming with me ?"

The pterosaur extends her long beak toward Dean's raised hand and waits all of three seconds before resting the appendage on it. Behind his back, Dean hears Davies and Quetsche release the breathe they were holding.

"How did you do that ?" Quetsche inquires, almost indignant.

Dean turns a smug face at him but before he can answer, four men raising their guns run into the pen, three of them dressed with bizarre suits that seem to be made of fleece.

"Police ! Hands up, everyone !" the one wearing a simple black coat yells.

The pterosaur doesn't appreciate being jostled by Dean's movement in answer to the order. She screeches in reply and the police officers cower.

Before Dean has time to calm her down, she flaps her wings and takes flight, disappearing behind the trees that hide the pen from the public visiting the garden. It's all Dean, Davies and Questsche can do to raise their arms higher to try and protect her from the armed men.

And then the guy Dean knocked out stumbles next to him.

"This man !" he shrieks, pointing at Dean, "this man attacked me to protect the pterosaur. He's in collusion with the bird monster. Arrest him !"

Saint Hubert's last word is lost into a scream when a small dog ferociously bites his ankle.

"Poléon !" Dean exclaims. "The president's worried about you, boy. You can't just go and have fun on your own."

The pterosaur's interest for Dean seems to have rubbed off on the Yorkie. The dog releases Saint Hubert and scampers about toward Dean who scoops him up in his arms.

"Raphaël, Gabriel and Mickaël, take this man into custody," the lead inspector orders.

And that's how Dean is taken to the Quai des Orfèvres by an uptight cop, a safari hunter and three sheep-men named after archangels.

The worst part is that nobody is ever going to believe him when he tells this story.

\-------------

There's a weird, disheveled guy half-asleep on the couch when Bobby comes back to the Winchester's apartment.

For his part, Sam is totally under. Bobby needs to get him into bed, but he's not about to do it alone since there's another man able to help.

He shakes the man's shoulder none too gently.

"Hey !" he says loudly to make sure to catch the guy's attention. "Where's Dean ?"

"Oh, he had to check on the pterosaur. I'm here to keep an eye on Sam."

So that guy is probably the infamous Professor Redfield.

"Well, let's get to work then. Help me put his giant ass to bed."

Together, they lift Sam who never opens his eyes and lets himself be dragged toward the bedroom where they take his clothes off and tuck him in. At least, Bobby thinks, the boy is really asleep this time, not just catatonic.

\-------------

This time, Asmodée takes his bloodhounds with him. Maybe if he'd had them at the Jardin des Plantes, Dean Winchester wouldn't have had the drop on him. But that moron Balthazar insisted that they might frighten the pterosaur, so Vlad and Spike had to stay in the car.

They provide a good excuse for Asmodée to go his own way when it appears that there's no place left for the four policemen and the man they have arrested. Asmodée plays the part of the concerned citizen and offers to take a cab, watching the others leave.

He waits all of thirty seconds before another car stops in front of him, driven by Rubis.

"So," she begins as Asmodée gets the dogs inside and then closes the door behind them, "where to ?"

"Rue de Rivoli," he answers, remembering the address he saw on the papers Boldieu found in Winchester's wallet.

They've been looking for the Winchester boys but the place they're living in has been warded, it seems. Now that they know where to look, and while Dean Winchester is stuck with the police, Asmodée is going to have a meaningful conversation with his little brother.

The drive is short – it amuses Asmodée when the other drivers they cross look so surprised to see a woman behind the wheel – and they park easily. The concierge looks disdainfully at Rubis, dressed like a harlot with her huge feathery hat and ruby-red dress, but she responds well to Asmodée's flirty manners and tells them what floor the Winchesters occupy as well as the apartment number. She's even all smiles when she accepts Asmodée's ten francs banknote to ignore the dogs she fears might dirty the stairs.

Once on the right story, Asmodée and the bloodhounds stay behind while Rubis goes to knock on the door. They don't know who's in there, but a pretty woman won't raise suspicion.

"Hello," he hears Rubis say to whoever opens the door. "I'm Rubis, Dean's girlfriend. He's waiting for me."

"Really ?" a male voice replies. "I doubt that very much."

So much for the no suspicion approach. But before Asmodée has time to move and take control of the situation, Rubis raises her hand and soon after some furniture cracks under the weight of a flying body.

When Asmodée, Vlad and Spike walk into the apartment, two older men are lying unconscious on the floor, more or less on top of each other, in the debris of a glass cabinet. As for Sam Winchester, like sleeping beauty, he's waiting for Asmodée to wake him up.

\-------------

Poléon is not anymore enamored of Dean than Dean is with him. He just smelt the beef jerky that Dean always keeps in his pocket for munchies emergencies, and he now refuses to leave his side, annoying little monster asking for food as soon as he's finished chewing on the previous treat.

At least, the Yorkie offers a distraction when all the police can do is repeat the same questions again and again.

"How did you get the egg to hatch ?" Balthazar Boldieu asks.

"What were you trying to achieve with the pterosaur ?" Raphaël Coldieu wonders.

"Where did the lady bird fly ?" Gabriel Foidieu smirks.

"How do you take the disgusting smell of fleece out of your suit and hair ?" Mickaël Beldieu sulks.

They keep at it like a well-oiled device, or a well-rehearsed quartet, hardly offering any respite for Dean to answer their queries. They don't even realize Dean might be overplaying his bad understanding of the French language.

"Américain," he says every time he doesn't want to answer, like an open sesame or a mantra.

"Bloody foreigners," Inspector Boldieu always replies.

It goes on and on until the office door opens and all four police officers stand at attention.

\-------------

Asmodée and Rubis enter Winchester's bedroom without waking him. Not even their standing at his bedside, looking at him, makes him stir in the slightest.

Asmodée grabs the sheet and takes if off to reveal the naked body of the Boy King. Sam Winchester is big and tall, a force of nature despite his ailing health, and he'll make a formidable ruler of hell. If it ever comes to that.

Obviously, Rubis' interest is more… down to Earth.

"He's pretty," Rubis says, sitting next to Sam and rubbing her hands over his chest, "can I keep him ?"

She leans down and pecks his lips.

"You think you can "keep" the Boy King ?" Asmodée snorts. "If you're lucky, he'll take you as a concubine, that's the best you can hope for."

"Well, that's too bad," Rubis concludes, caressing the length of Sam's cock with the tip of her index finger. "I'd have had a lot of fun with this one, I just know it. A lot more than with that old, crazy Devereaux ! Do you know I had to imagine fake conspiracies for him to get it up ?"

"Too much information, woman. Give it a rest. Devereaux's dead."

"Suit yourself, but let me tell you, I have a wild imagination. I'm sure Sammy here will appreciate it."

\-------------

"Poléon !" President Malvy cries in joy when he spots his dog lying at Dean's feet.

At last, the little dog abandons Dean and runs toward his master, yapping all the while.

Behind the president and his guards, a tall man with a horsey face keeps bending down to show his respect to the head of the government and sends murderous looks in between to the inspectors who stand ramrod straight. Probably the police chief, then.

Behind come two people Dean wasn't expecting, Arthur Quetsche and Mick Davies.

"Mr. Winchester," the president finally acknowledges him, "I don't know how to thank you for finding my Poléon."

"Mr. President, there's no need for…"

"I insist. This is a great day for the friendship uniting our two countries. Rest assured I won't forget what you did for me."

The president turns toward the inspectors to look down on them.

"Professor Quetsche alerted me when you were unfairly arrested. Even though you saved my dog ! I can guarantee that it will not happen again. Hack, remember to hold these officers' pay for a week, in retribution for their blunder. Gentlemen, Mr. Winchester is tracking the pterosaur on my order. Considering it took him only a few hours to find Napoléon, I want you to stand down from your own investigation, but you will make yourself available in case Mr. Winchester needs you. Is that clear ?"

"Absolutely, Mr. President," Police Chief Hack answers for them all with a new bow. "He has but to ask."

"We already have a hunter working the case for us," Balthazar Boldieu is brave enough to remark out loud.

"Then you will tell him to stand down too."

Soon the president is on his way out, closely followed by the police chief. Dean is quick to grab his hat and leave the room with the professor and Davies.

"Can you drive me back to the Jardin des Plantes ?" he asks them.

He needs to get on with his own mission now. The more he delays, the more Donatello will be exhausted and the less he'll be able to help Sam.

Dean doubts the pterosaur is the monster she's rumored to be. She looked to him more like a baby in need of a mother. He's pretty sure it won't be that hard to rein her in. Once they've found her again, of course.

\-------------

Asmodée rummages inside the haversack he carries with him until he finds what he's looking for. Vlad and Spike instantly whine and retreat in the living room, far from the key, a 14-inch-long, golden masterpiece created many centuries ago.

"What's that ?" Rubis worries.

"The Saint Hubert's key."

"Some kind of heirloom ?"

"In a sense, yeah. It's been in the family for a long while. To be honest, it gave us our name."

"Really ? I thought that kind of thing went the other way. You know, the family object taking the name of the family it belongs to."

"You thought right. But then the key isn't your usual kind of heirloom."

"What do you mean ?"

"It was created a long time ago, as a sacrament to hold a memory of Saint Peter's chains. There's a legend attached to it, that Saint Peter appeared in front of Hubert as he was saying mass and offered him this key, as 'a sign of his power to bind and unbind, and to cure the lunatics and the furious.'"

"And humans let your family keep such an invaluable tool ?" Rubis wonders.

"Not exactly. They might believe they still have the original key in Liège and this one to be just a copy. They might be wrong on all accounts."

Asmodée sits on the bed, on the other side of Sam Winchester, and admires the key to all his problems.

This is the moment he's been waiting for. The reason why he decided to wear that fool Saint Hubert's meatsuit in the first place. Why he trusted this family, for centuries, with keeping the key, so that he would be able to use it on a distant day when the Boy King would be in need of his assistance. The day when the relic of the holy chains would be used to unbind him from his earthly bonds.

The needle has been stuck in Winchester's brain for almost a year. It's time for Asmodée to act on it. Before the deal is done and Winchester turns, once and for all.

Asmodée raises the key to insert the bit of the needle jutting from Winchester's forehead inside the tiny hole at the end of the shaft. Then he turns it like he would a key inside a lock to close it. One complete, backward turn.

Winchester frowns first, and then his face is contorting and it's not long before he opens his mouth to scream in obvious, terrible pain.

"What are you doing ?" Rubis shrieks.

\-------------

The good surprise is that the pterosaur is waiting for them in her nest.

"Hey, girl," Dean tells her once more as he approaches, because why change something that worked the first time.

The bird coos, there's no other word about it, when Dean begins to stroke her long neck.

After a few moments, Dean moves to stroke her back, get her used to the feeling of his body around her. He's probably going too fast, but something tells him he needs to hurry, to get back to Sam, so he jumps the gun by literally jumping on her back.

"Mr. Winchester ! Be careful !" Davies warns him once again.

The pterosaur is not happy, that's the least he can say. She bucks and leaps to try and dislodge him, but he's not having any of it. He holds on for dear life until the moment she understands she'd better accept and go with it.

"That's it, sweetheart. Now take me home !"

He tightens his thighs around the body and she seems to understand his intention. Her wings spread open and she leaps into the air, high above the trees, before Dean has time to remember how much he hates that feeling.

\-------------

"Now I get why Azazel said not to trust you !" Rubis confronts Asmodée. "Turn it off !"

Asmodée sits up straighter, menacing.

"Certainly not. Azazel might be stupid enough to want Lucifer back, but I'm not. The boy dies today."

Stupidity is contagious, or so it seems when Rubis launches herself at him. She's no match to his power, and she knows it.

But she holds her own, coming back to scratch him every time he pushes her away with a punch. Winchester's ongoing screams of pain boost her, proving he's still alive and she still has a chance to salvage Azazel's plan.

She's a fool, and he takes great pleasure in demonstrating it, throwing her around the room like a ragdoll. Her hat is dangling from her hair, bun more than messy holding on with just one long hairpin, and Asmodée is tempted to use it on her just like Azazel planted his demonic needle in Winchester's brain.

But this one will kill her if he wants, just like he's going to kill the Winchester boy as soon as he's done with Rubis.

\-------------

He's done his best not to squeeze the bird's neck too hard. He's kept his eyes closed for most of the ride, and took great care to keep them at roof level every time he opened them to make sure they were going the right way. If he looks down in the street, he's pretty sure his breakfast is going to make a comeback, as well as all the beef jerky he's been munching on along with the president's dog.

It's a good thing that the Jardin des Plantes is not really far from the apartment on Rivoli Street, especially by air. The pterosaur and Dean are soon landing on the building's roof.

"Stay here !" Dean orders, and she seems to get it.

He finds a bull's-eye and breaks the glass to get into the building.

That's when he hears the screams.

The voice he would recognize anywhere, anytime. It makes him run without checking for danger or coming up with a plan. He kicks the door open and finds that joke of a hunter who had him arrested in a rather intense fisticuffs with a woman. Bobby and Donatello are lying on the floor, hopefully still alive, and Dean can hear Sam's screams growing weaker, as if the pain is killing him.

He needs to get to his brother, but when he steps further into the room, the hunter turns toward him and his eyes glow yellow !

"Heel !" Saint Hubert orders his dogs just before they're going to throw themselves at Dean.

The woman is in bad shape but she's still moving, and the demon, who is so unlike any other Dean's ever seen that he feels he's grasping at straws, turns back to ensure she's not a threat, long enough that Dean is able to run and get the Colt they keep in a drawer.

The confrontation is short. As soon as he sees the special weapon Dean is holding, Asmodée de Saint Hubert freezes. Dean shoots, right in his forehead. The demon looks poleaxed and then short electric lightning, born inside his skull, travel through his body as the same time as tiny explosions rattle his whole frame. A few seconds later, the meatsuit falls to the floor.

Dean doesn't spare another glance to him before he sprints to the bedroom. The dogs bare their teeth at him but they let him pass, as if their master's order was still valid. He finds Sam lying in bed naked, hands gripping his head like he's trying to take it off to stop hurting. The woman kneels at his side, seizing the huge key attached to Sam's forehead.

Dean raises the Colt without thinking, ready to kill her too to prevent her from harming Sam. But then she turns the key to the right and Sam stops screaming at last.

The key falls on the bed next to Sam and Dean snatches it, still aiming at the woman.

"Who are you ?" he asks, harshly.

"Don't shoot me !" she cries, terrified. "I'm just a cancan dancer. My name's Violette Duval. I was in the car with Senator Devereaux when the dinosaur attacked. I survived the fall into the Seine, but then that freak you just killed kidnapped me. I don't even know why. I don't understand what's going on."

She bursts into tears and Dean is almost willing to believe her. After all, she saved Sammy.

"But you knew what to do with my brother ? How did you know ?"

She sniffles hard and then manages to explain.

"I saw the hunter turn the key, and then the young man began screaming. I don't know, it seemed the logical thing to do, turning it the other way."

Dean hesitates. She's right, why would Asmodée kidnap her ? Unless she knows something, maybe thanks to Devereaux – a French former hunter Dean met more than once – but doesn't realize it.

Groans are heard from the living room where Bobby and Donatello are waking up, thank God for that ! The girl looks startled, or maybe worried, it's hard to say.

When she turns back toward Dean, her eyes are utterly black.

Violette doesn't give Dean any time to use the Colt on her. She sends him flying over the bed, thankfully far from Sam, and the gun disappears somewhere behind a chest of drawers, irretrievable in emergency.

"Dean !" Sam shouts despite his feeble voice.

Dean shakes his head to clear it, but before he can get back up, the window explodes in a flurry of glass shards and wood splinters and the pterosaur erupts in the bedroom, going straight for the cancan dancer.

Before the bird can plunge her beak into the woman's chest, a heavy black smoke escapes from Violette's mouth, and then her body falls to the floor.

Dean doesn't even check if she's still alive. He kneels as gently as he can next to Sam and takes his head in his hands to take a better look at the area around the needle. It's red and puffy, but there's no damage he can see. If the key harmed Sam, it's all in his brain, and there's nothing Dean can do about it.

It's Donatello's turn to pull a miracle.

\-------------

Rubis is in the foulest mood. She liked being Violette and dancing cancan, having all the men at her feet, ready to spend fortunes on her. But the worst part is that she has to go and tell Azazel that Asmodée has tried to kill the Boy King and the Winchesters are now aware that the demons have a plan in motion. The only good part in this mess is that Asmodée's dead and won't be able to do more harm.

Rubis is so pissed that when she spots a young priest, praying in the park next to the cathedral, she descends on him and forces her way in. The poor guy doesn't stand a chance and it feels good to sully a pure soul, a servant of God.

He's called Père Thomas Grégoire, she finds out. He was ordained a few years ago, and posted here in Notre-Dame for the last two years. His biggest pleasure is to hear the organ playing, but he loves his job just as much, attending to the needs of the flock in such a gorgeous, glorious place. He knows how to use the good looks the Lord gave him to encourage women to do always more for the parish and Rubis has no doubt she'll be able to use them too for a much better purpose.

Those good looks might even mollify Azazel's temper.

"Rubis," the prince of hell says when she finally stands in front of him in her cassock, "what happened ?"

Next to Azazel, the rat Crowley raises an eyebrow and smiles in derision at her drastic change of career and sex.

"Asmodée," she answers, ignoring Crowley, "he turned on us."

"What do you mean, he turned on us ?"

"Exactly that, my Lord. We went to the Winchesters' apartment. Asmodée told me it was time to bring Samuel to us since the year was almost over. But once there, he used something he called the Saint Hubert key to try and kill the Boy King."

"Did he say why ?"

"He said… that he wasn't stupid enough to bring back Lucifer."

If demons needed air, it's probable Azazel's hand made into a fist would see to it that she couldn't breathe anymore.

"Did you stop him ?"

"I tried, I swear. But he was so much stronger than me."

"Then why are you still alive ?"

Rubis feels fear invading her whole being.

"Dean Winchester," she answers, like those two words can explain anything bad happening. "He killed Asmodée."

"How ?"

The question cracks like a whip.

"The Colt, my Lord."

Rubis waits for the next question, anxious with the risk to say the wrong thing. When it comes, she doesn't feel any better.

"So why are you still alive ?" Azazel repeats.

"I used my former body… I know Dean Winchester's reputation with women, so I used the cancan dancer's charms, and a lot of tears, and he believed me, I think. But then the pterosaur found my scent again, and my only chance was to abandon the body and find a new one."

Azazel doesn't need to know she made a mistake by not killing the two older men and that Dean would have recognized her for a demon anyway.

He really doesn't. She should keep silent and ignore the yellow stare that feels like a hand drill piercing her skull until her most intimate secrets spill, visible to all.

She falls to her knees, the pain insufferable to the point where she can't keep her screams inside anymore. And all along, she rejoices to feel the priest she's wearing screaming in terror.

If she has to die, at least she won't go alone.

\-------------

First thing Dean checks getting into the living room is the dogs, but the bird's incursion forced them to flee.

It's probably a good thing that Bobby and Donatello fell on Patmosis when they broke the glass cabinet. Dean has a feeling the demons would have destroyed the mummy, had they seen it. The guys didn't break anything vital in their fall, so it's all good.

And now that Donatello is reassured about the pterosaur happily napping on their bed, behind the bedroom's closed door, it's time to wake up the Egyptian doctor. 

Sam is so weak it's breaking Dean's heart. Whatever Asmodée did to him with his big key, it sucked so much of Sam's already depleted strength that Dean would like to revive the demon and kill him again. Or maybe give the Cold to Sammy so that he could do it himself. Teaching demons a lesson about going after the Winchesters.

"I'm ready," Donatello announces.

"Can we do something ?" Bobby asks.

"Yes. When I tell you, pour the oil into the cup. Dean, you'll set it all aflame."

"What about me ?" Sam says.

"You need to be ready. If this works, there's going to be a huge transfer of energy and you don't have any to give. So concentrate on not being swept up."

"And how am I supposed to do that ?"

"Think of the things you enjoy the most in life. The people you love and don't want to lose. Keep a sense of self sufficient enough to block any leak."

"Okay, I get it. I think."

Sam looks at Dean and there's no need to say it out loud. Sam will think of him, of the life they used to have that they're both missing so damn much. He will put all his hopes for a shared future into making sure that he survives.

Donatello takes a seat in a chair in front of Sam, who's kind of sprawled on the couch. Bobby and Dean stand on either side of the pedestal table Donatello pulled next to himself, ready to do their part.

The professor starts reciting in an ancient tongue that Dean guesses might be antique Egyptian. As the words flow, his voice gets stronger, louder and in contrast, Sam seems to shrink into the cushions holding him.

Dean is tempted to call it off to spare his brother, but the alternative is inconceivable. He needs to trust Sam.

But it's not easy when a whirlwind appears in the middle of their apartment and sends flying every object and paper weighing less than half a pound. And then bigger objects get airborne too, and Dean fears for Sam's head that really can't take any more abuse, but the potential projectiles keep circling them, never coming closer than four or five feet.

Dean keeps sending Sam worried glances as he sees his brother paler by the minute and he almost misses Donatello's sign and Bobby pouring the oil. When he finally does his one job, an intense light suffuse the whole room, and then everything flying just drops down at the same time as the living room gets dark.

Bobby finds his way to the window and open the heavy curtains. In the gentle light of dusk, the place looks like a battlefield.

Donatello lies unconscious and Sammy doesn't fare much better.

Dean feels rage growing inside him. It was all for nothing.

Sammy risked his life, and for what ? To revive a guy who looks like he was the main course at last year's 4th of July's barbecue. A tad overdone, and definitely dead !

He reaches for the flask of oil now lying empty on the table and throws it at the mummy with a cry of utter frustration.

"Dean," Sam murmurs, "it's okay."

"No, Sam, it's not even remotely okay. Patmosis was supposed to help you and now…"

"How can I be of assistance ?"

Dean freezes. Sam turns his eyes toward the voice and then Dean follows suit.

As it turns out, Patmosis has woken up.

\-------------

Crowley leaves Azazel to deal with Rubis. Now that they have the Winchesters' address, they can watch them.

He's not about to make the same kind of mistakes as Rubis, though. The demon is a fanatic, and stupid for it. Crowley knows better.

So he sends a minor demon to trail the American hunters, with strict orders to report only to him.

\-------------

"I didn't see that one coming !" Bobby mutters.

None of them really did, to be honest. Dean doesn't know what the others imagined when they thought about awakening the mummy, but that… thing, walking, and talking, wasn't even approaching the realm of his dreams and fantasies.

"Did you not call on me for a specific purpose ?" the mummy asks in French, as if aware somehow of the country it now resides in, and then repeats the sentence in English.

Not only does the mummy speaks more than its original language, it also speaks excellent French and English. That means there's no reason to doubt it can probably speaks every earthly language, past and present. Dean can already hear Sam ranting about the awesome universal translator they've just found and the many ways they can use it.

Which is not at all the reason why he brought the mummy back, so Dean decides to cut to the chase.

"I did," he answers. "I want you to heal Sam."

Patmosis turns his head in the direction Dean is showing him. Then he walks to the couch and sits next to Sam, taking one of his pale hands between his own.

"You're so weak," Patmosis observes, and Dean feels cold to the bones. "On the edge between life and death, and it's only your inner strength and the love of your brother keeping you on the side of life.

"So you're going to heal him ?" Dean insists.

"No."

It's like a slap to Dean's face.

"Why not ?"

"Because I can't."

"But you're a doctor. Donatello says your medicine was so advanced that you could do many things we don't, three millennia later."

"I'm afraid I can't compare our two medicines at the moment, but to answer your most pressing need, I would have to be a god. I'm sorry. You went to Egypt and braved so many dangers, and I wish I could repay you for everything you've done for me, but I don't have that kind of power."

Dean looks down, unable to look Sam in the eyes and watch death at work.

"Can I have some tea ?" Patmosis breaks the silence.

Dean can't help but laugh.

"You drink ?"

"Not for me. For your brother. I can make it if you just tell me where to find the leaves."

"Sure, the kitchen's right there, and the tea is in the first cupboard on the left, the orange box."

As the mummy makes its way toward the kitchen, Bobby comes to Dean and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, boys. We knew it was a shot in the dark, but we had to try."

"You're right," Sam approves. "I know you guys hoped for a better result, but don't feel bad about it. You gave it your best."

"No !" Dean cuts in. "There must be something else we can do."

"What ?" Bobby argues, almost angry. "We went through all the books, all the lore. Redfield's hypothesis was the last chance, that's why I let you go with it, as crazy as it seemed. Because I don't have anything more to try."

"Maybe… maybe, if it comes to it, Donatello was able to revive a mummy and a prehistorical dinosaur. If Sam dies, Donatello could bring him back."

"Have you seen him ?" Sam counters. "The toll it takes on him ?"

"His heart won't be able to handle another hit of that kind," Bobby adds. "He'll die."

"Then I'll learn to do it. I'm younger and stronger, and…"

"No, you won't !" Sam forbids him. "I won't have you die to save me. If I die, I die. End of the story."

"So you can die, but I can't ?!"

"Exactly !"

"Yeah, well, watch me ! I will do as…"

"Boys !" Bobby shouts. "Sam is not dead yet, but this argument certainly doesn't help. I'm going to take Donatello to the hospital, and I want you to calm down before I go."

As Bobby places one of Donatello's arms over his shoulders and leads him out of the apartment, Patmosis comes back with a steaming cup in his hand. Sam smiles in thanks, and maybe also a little bit because the mummy looks quite disheveled, bandages dragging on the floor behind him as he walks.

"Your… – kitchen ? is that the way you call it ? – is quite impressive, I must admit. How do you call that big box that creates fire ?"

"You mean the gas stove ?" Sam suggests.

"I guess I do. That's genius ! How does it work ?"

"Well, there's a pipe in the building leading the gas to the stove inside every apartment and…"

"Okay, you two," Dean interrupts the explanation, "we'll keep the lesson for another time. Pat, I thought you didn't drink ?"

There's another cup in the mummy's hand and he's sipping from it.

"I thought I'd give it a try… I hope I'm not overstepping some boundaries I'm not aware of ?"

"Not at all. Mi casa es su casa, and all that jazz."

"Thank you, Dean, you're quite urbane."

"I'm what now ?"

Sam snorts.

"He means friendly, pleasant. Welcoming."

"Yeah, well, don't mention it," Dean cuts the conversation short, strangely embarrassed.

This is all too much. He feels trapped and nothing seems to make much sense anymore. Sam is dying, and they have a sentient mummy drinking tea in their living room.

"It's quite good, really," Patmosis gives the tea a second try. "I must say, I needed something like this to soothe me after the professor's spell. I'm sure it was strong enough to wake the dead in a two-kilometer radius."

The mummy laughs at his own joke but violently startles when Dean grips his wrist before he can bring the cup to his lips again.

"Dean," Sam protests, "what are you doing ?"

Dean ignores him, staring hard at Patmosis.

"You said you'd need to be a god to heal Sam, right ? Now tell me if I'm wrong, but I seem to remember that pharaohs were considered to be gods among men."

"You're right," Patmosis answers, almost warily. "My master, Ramses II, was the strongest of them all."

"I'm sure he was. But does that mean he would have had the power needed to make Sam whole again ?"

"Actually, yes. If he were here and alive, and most of all willing to do it, he could heal Sam."

Dean lets the mummy go and claps his hands together, a smile on his face for the first time in what feels like years.

There's a copy of today's newspaper somewhere in the room. It's been blown away by Donatello's spell but Dean manages to track it down and find the event & leisure page.

At the bottom, in the same place Dean saw it every day for the last few days, a big ad reminds readers of the current, exceptional exhibit at the Louvre : sarcophaguses and mummies from the time of Ramses II, coming right from Egypt for a short period of time before they go enlighten another country.

"Look !" he orders, shoving the paper in front of the mummy's face. "Your master's here, and I bet he's alive too. Now tell me, how can we make sure that he'll be willing to help ?"

He feels Sam looking at him and turns his eyes on him. There he reads hope, shining bright and looking back at him.

He's not sure what the cure might entail, but he knows one thing. He'll get his brother back tonight, or he'll die trying. They've tried everything else ; this is the last chance before Sam withers away and dies. And this is not a fate Dean can tolerate and accept. He'll fight demons to save his brother. He'll fight gods and any kinds of monster if he has to.

He'll fight Ramses II and force him to heal Sam.

\-------------

"Sir, the Winchesters are moving."

The demon Crowley sent to watch over them is back.

"Then why are you here instead of tailing them ?"

"You asked to be apprised of their doings."

Crowley sighs. No one ever said becoming a demon made one former human smart. Sometimes it feels as if he should do everything himself to get it done well.

"I'm sorry, sir," the demon tries to redeem himself. "I'll go back and find them."

Crowley shuts him up by snapping his fingers, and the guy disappears forever in a puff of ashes.

Azazel doesn't need to know the Winchesters are on the move. Better let him think that Sam is still too weak to do anything until the day he'll turn. Better let him keep on believing that the needle he inserted in Samuel's brains, the one that Crowley prepared to his specifications, was cursed in the right way to transform this special human into the ultimate tool that will bring Lucifer back.

If Rubis is right, then Asmodée and Crowley were on the same side. Asmodée's plan failed. Crowley's won't. It's too late for that, and the mere fact that Sam Winchester is out and about proves it.

But after Asmodée's betrayal, Azazel is going to be twice as suspicious and vicious – the death Dean Winchester offered Asmodée was definitely a gift in disguise. Azazel would have torn him apart and put him back together only to do it again, all that fun for millennia.

Crowley reflects that it's probably time to find another gig. Last he heard, the position of King of the Crossroads was open – he should know, he was the one who got rid of the previous king.

Azazel has gotten cocky after centuries of ruling, he's not afraid of two puny humans. But if the Winchesters have proved one thing in the past few years, it's that they're harder to kill than cockroaches.

As for himself, Crowley intends to stay out of their way for as long as it takes before he knows for sure he can take on them.

\-------------

To be completely honest, Patmosis looks quite ridiculous wearing one of Dean's suits. The legs are far too long for him, and the vest too large, but the ball cap is especially hilarious. Maybe mummies don't have the head for hats, Dean muses.

Somehow, Sam looks even weirder, perched on the pterosaur's back. Dean can see he's declining fast, hanging on through sheer stubbornness but already less than half conscious, and he thanks all the Egyptian deities as well as Donatello for this animal able to support his brother and take him to the one who might prove able to cure him.

It's no one's fault that the Louvre is so big, and that they have to remain silent so as not to alert the vigil.

But Patmosis wants to have fun after being entombed for so many lifetimes. Twice already, Dean's seen him playing with his shadow on the floor to try and scare the night guards doing their rounds.

Now he's suggesting different shadow puppet figures that he'd like to try and Dean can't take it anymore.

"Hey, knock it off !" Dean murmurs as harshly as he can. "I need you one thousand percent focused on Sam and his cure. You'll play silly games once we're done here."

Dean swears, he looks like a kid about to make a scene because his mother forbade him to go play outside as long as he's not finished with his homework.

"Don't !" he stops the argument he knows is coming. "Sam and I, we've always been a pair. He's my better half and I'll do anything necessary to save his life, so don't cross me."

"Yes, master," Patmosis relents.

"And none of that. I'm not your master."

"But I have a debt of gratitude..."

"That you can repay by getting your boss to use his power to heal Sam. Come on, let's find the sarcophaguses."

They finally manage to enter the department of Egyptian antiquities, but they still need to go through many rooms before they end in the place they've been searching for all along.

Sam seems to wake up partially at the view of the painted wooden boxes adorning the walls, like guards watching over their king. The center of the room is filled by a sarcophagus carved in stone that attracts everyone's stare, and Dean easily guesses that they've found Ramses II.

"How do we proceed ?" he asks.

"We must follow protocol," Patmosis answers, "to show our respect to the great king, the chosen of Ra."

"Okay. So what do we do ?"

"You do nothing. We handle everything else."

"We ? Who's we ?"

The answer comes in the form of more mummies. All the painted boxes aligned along the walls are opening, one after the other, to let the mummy they contain wander free inside the museum. All meet around their pharaoh's much bigger sarcophagus.

When they all stand like a guard of honor, they work together to take off the coffin's top and bring to light the body inside.

The least you can say, Dean thinks as he takes a peek, is that the good old pharaoh looks his age. Not a pretty young thing anymore.

\-------------

Being a prince of hell means power. An astounding amount of power.

And the corollary is that everybody fears him. So much so that information comes to him without solicitation.

When a person Azazel is interested in makes a move, at least three demons walk over each other to try and be the first to tell him about that move.

When the Winchester leave their home, one of them sitting on the back of the pterosaur everybody's been talking about in Paris and the other accompanied by what looks like a mummy, there has to be someone to tell Azazel about it.

And it looks like the Winchester have been seized by an irresistible need to acquire further knowledge about art in general, and Egyptian embalming techniques in particular. At the Louvre, no less.

Azazel has a lot he can teach them about both topics. His fields of expertise are various and sundry. He knows all the ways you can kill a man – or a woman – and make it just so painful that they will ask for death long before he grants their wish. He knows how to tear hope out of one's heart. How to stuff said heart with dread and hate and drugs. How to stop caring for those you once loved.

The Winchesters would benefit greatly from his expertise, no doubt about it, and Azazel is prepared to help them out of the goodness of his heart. First, he'll teach Sammy how to get rid of his meddling big brother, and it will be bloody. Then he'll train him to respond to his voice and command. Samuel will make an obedient Boy King, eager to please Azazel in any way. Once Lucifer is restored, Azazel will ask for a gift Satan won't be able to deny him, for Azazel will have brought him back.

Samuel will make a perfect consort.

But first, if there's the tiniest chance that the cure Dean Winchester has come up with might work, Azazel needs to see to it that his efforts are for naught. Once he's done, he'll bring Samuel back to his home. In two days, a full year will have passed, and the training of the Boy King will begin.

\-------------

They've been at it for less than ten minutes, and that was nine too many in Dean's opinion. Sam, on the contrary, looks fascinated, almost as much as he seems about to keel over. He's slumped against the pterosaur's strong neck, who doesn't show any displeasure at the contact or the burden despite the heavy dead weight on her back.

Dean's attention is brought back to the pharaoh when the damn mummy moves at last, seconds before his men help him out of the sarcophagus.

Ramses looks regal, Dean's gotta be honest about that. And he can't help the little frisson of anticipation coursing through his body. How many men have seen mummies wake up from a millennia-long sleep, stand and walk around like they just want to get breakfast and then go to work ? How many among those lucky few have seen _Ramses II_ coming back to life ?

'Kay, the great pharaoh looks a bit on the toasty side. He has arthritis and a hunch, and his hair display a surprisingly reddish tint. Yet his men kneel in front of him and bow their heads.

"What time is it ?" Ramses II asks in a gravelly voice.

Sleeping for more than 3,000 years will do that to you.

"The year is 1911, great Ramses," Patmosis answers.

For all he's been reborn for a few hours only, Pat is still the most learned of the bunch when it comes to their century.

The pharaoh turns to another man who looks pompous like a priest, the kind who thinks their beliefs should be everyone's.

"Semotep, is it the time we were supposed to wake up to lead our people toward their great destiny ?"

"Not yet, great Ramses. I don't know why Patmosis thought it would be a good idea, but he was definitely wrong."

"Patmosis, do you have something to say to that ?"

"That I did nothing of the sort, my king. I was awakened just like you, but in the company of men of this time. They have been tremendously helpful and I'd like to…"

"You were always speaking too much," the sovereign cuts Patmosis' flow of words with a hand gesture.

In this moment, Dean feels like kindred spirit with the pharaoh. He wish he knew how to shut someone up as easily.

The king tests his legs on his own, reviews his guards, and then stops abruptly as he walks up to Dean.

"Patmosis, who is this man ?"

"Dean Winchester, my lord. One of the men who woke us up."

"What did he want with us ?"

"He," Dean highlights the word, "stands right here and can speak for himself."

The pharaoh is clearly stunned to be interrupted and called on his bad manners.

"Then speak up, young man."

Patmosis stands right next to them and looks alarmed by the situation.

"Excuse his impudence, my king. He doesn't know the rules. Mr. Winchester is a storyteller by trade."

"Really ? One does make a living with such trifles ?"

"One does make a great living !" Dean answers, the tiniest bit pissed on his brother's behalf as well as his own.

"That still does not explain why you needed to wake us up ahead of time."

"We only needed Patmosis. I went to Egypt to work with him. I needed him to cure my brother."

Dean indicates Sam at his left. There's no need to comment. Even to a dead guy, Sam's low level of vigor doesn't require questions and answers to be evident

"The way I see it," Dean goes on, "now that you're up anyway, you could lend us a hand and get my brother back to health…"

"Maybe," Ramses answers but then he turns his back to them to rejoin his men. "After the reconnaissance operations. I need to know this place first and make plans afterward for the new kingdom."

Dean follows him, and Patmosis trots behind him.

"Sam needs your help _now_ , not _after_. He's dying."

"You know, life and death, it's all the same. It's a flow, it kind of comes and goes. Look at us !"

"Yeah, no offense, but I kind of prefer avoiding for my brother the fate of looking like a mummy. I'd like to focus on the "life comes" part and forget the rest."

Patmosis is tugging on his sleeve to get his attention but Dean is too upset to get it.

"In that case," Ramses answers, vexed and pissed, "I'm sure you'll find someone to help you whose ugliness won't offend your delicate sensibility."

"Hey, that's not fair !" Dean protests

But Ramses walks away.

"Pat," Dean urges, "do something ! Sam needs him."

"Very well, I'll try."

Patmosis falls into step behind Ramses and launches into a long explanation of the reason why Ramses should help the young man who needs him. But before the pharaoh has time to make a decision, armed men enter the exhibition room, aiming at mummy and men alike. The pterosaur hisses and screeches but stays put because of her precious cargo.

Then enters another man Dean would recognize anywhere : Azazel the sorcerer.

"What are you doing here ?" Dean growls.

Azazel seems pleased to find them both, there's no other way to put it. But when he looks at Sam, his smile turns hungry, all teeth showing, and Dean cringes even more.

"I'm sure you remember our encounter in Egypt," Azazel finally replies, "in that tomb where you stole your friend here's body. You seemed so sure he was the key to Sam's problem. My curiosity was piqued. I needed to see it myself."

"And what an extraordinary coincidence that you happened to pass by on the same day we do !"

"It is, isn't it ?!"

Dean considers him.

"So what do you want ?"

"I want to prevent an accident."

"Just like you did on the ship ?"

"Boys ! Dean, Sam, you must know this was nothing personal. I acted in self-defense, to get you to stop hunting me."

It seems logical, but something about this man grates on Dean's every sense, telling him to distrust Azazel and never turn his back on him. Whatever he may say and how well he says it.

"Don't believe him, Dean," Sam implores, trying to stay upright on his mount and failing.

The pterosaur favors one leg or the other depending on the moment, to adapt to Sammy's slouching and erratic moves. At the moment, her wings are deployed, ready to fly away and protect him. Her agitation reminds Dean of the way she attacked Rubis and he can't help watching Azazel's men differently from then on. He still doesn't know who Azazel is working for, but they've known for almost a year now that he doesn't mind dealing with demonic tools.

"Whose dirty job are you taking on ?" Dean fumes. "What do they want with us ? With Sam ? What the demons' beef with us ? You better come clean because as soon as Sam's healed, I'm gonna make sure the one responsible for this meets an ugly death."

Azazel narrows his eyes at him at these last words and there's a kind of a shift in the air – men readying for battle – as well as a physical one when the mummies take position around their leader to protect Ramses.

"I will chase them too," Sam affirms.

It's kind of pathetic, considering Sam's current state, but it's also the sign of his brother's bravery.

"And we will chase you, because if you really killed our mother, we will find out why and you will pay for it. In this world and into the next."

Sam's big declaration ends on a coughing fit that leaves him even weaker than before.

The bird wails in distress and it's like the signal for everyone to let violence loose. The eyes of Azazel's men go black, confirming what Dean suspected, a second before they attack.

"Protect Sam !" Dean orders the pterosaur before he plunges into the fray.

Of course, he would stand no chance alone against demons. But the mummies are vicious and strong, and they spare no effort to defeat the enemy. Dean sees a chance to capture Azazel and goes for it, only to find himself surrounded by three demons. Ramses, Patmosis and Semotep at his back are no help at all until Patmosis mans up and appears at his side to defend their lives and his pharaoh.

One by one, demons are sent back to hell, bodies dropping behind, dead, as they leave. Dean sees it as just retribution for killing the museum's night guards, which seems like the only logical explanation why nobody showed up to stop them when the fight began.

Dean kills two demons himself, one of which was trying to get to the pharaoh and behead him. It's quite satisfying, but when Dean tries to reach Azazel again, the man has disappeared, just like he did on their first encounter.

"Dammit !" Dean shouts, more angry than ever.

But their victory is complete. All demons have been vanquished, as Sam would write in one of their books. Defeated, beaten, asses kicked into oblivion. They won, and Sam is still alive. Sam is…

"Sam !" Dean yells.

His brother is slumped entirely over the bird's neck, the only thing to prevent him from falling head first.

Dean runs at his side and hardly finds a pulse.

"Ramses !" he commands the pharaoh's attention, "Are you honorable, oh great pharaoh ? Are you a real man or just a legend ? I saved your life, and I ask for quid pro quo. You save Sam's life, now, or you'll have my death on your conscience, because I can't live without him."

Ramses stares at him, judging his words, his will and his sincerity all in the same, long look. And then he nods.

"Nosibis is my personal doctor. He will take care of your brother and cure him, give him more time to bask in the deep love you feel for him."

Dean releases the breath he wasn't consciously holding to let four mummies surround Sam and lift him. Together, they bring Sam to Ramses' sarcophagus and lay him inside.

Nosibis is hard at work already when Dean turns to him. The doctor is using one of the vials displayed in a cabinet, that he empties into a chipped cup probably made at the time Ramses was first alive. Dean pushes one of the mummies away to stand closer, be able to reach for Sam and take his hand in his, and watch the doctor prepare his stuff in the same moment.

Patmosis lends his support by standing next to him by the time the doctor is ready. Nosibis first slides a small box – another precious artifact, it seems – under Sam's neck to raise his head. Then he takes the cup he prepared, full of a brownish mixture that he applies around the area where the needle protrudes from the middle of Sam's forehead. He does the same behind his head, at the point of entry.

At the doctor's order, two mummies approach Sam to bare his chest, pushing his shirt aside to show skin and reveal his heart, like an offering to the gods. Dean feels a cold dread rush through his own heart, his whole body, but he forces himself into stillness.

Nosibis leans over Sam. With the tip of two fingers, he draws over Sam's heart and down his torso a huge form that Dean recognizes to be an ankh. The cross of life, how very relevant. Then the doctor lays his hand in the middle of the cross and pronounces something that feels like a spell to Dean.

Maybe he imagined it, but he could swear he heard Sam taking a deeper breath. God knows he had a lot experiences this year at listening to any detail proving that Sam is getting better, stronger. Alive.

He closes his eyes on the memories, willing them away, but reopens them quickly. He owes it to Sam to watch over him while he's unconscious.

Nosibis repeats his mantra as well as the drawing on Sam's chest. Sam's skin, under the mixture, is glowing, and Dean imagines the salve making its fiery path into deep tissue, right to the heart.

Sam's eyes open under the onslaught. He grits his teeth, keeping his cries of pain inside, until the moment Nosibis brings his hand behind his head and pulls on the needle. All the way out of Sam's head.

Dean shouts no ! and then there's no sound, not even one small drag of foot on the floor. Dean swears he can feel/hear his heart racing in disbelief but its intangible, unreal. Nosibis did… This silence, this lack of sound, it' so ominous, the negation of life, the suppression of movement and joy. It's nothingness, it's abandon and despair.

Sam is… No, he's not. His eyes are wide open and unseeing, but it's nothing new, and Sam can't be… as soon as Dean can put his hands on Sam again to make love to him, he will wake up, make noises and look at Dean.

"What did you do ?" he hears, only to realize he's the one who's been talking.

Everyone ignores him. After letting go of Sam's head that he gently deposits against the sarcophagus, the small artifact at the nape of his neck pushed away, Nosibis takes a step back to allow Ramses in his place. Dean watches, still heartbroken and stupid, the pharaoh leaning down to apply his dried out lips against Sam's pink mouth.

"The kiss of life," Patmosis murmurs with such reverence that it breaks Dean's defenses, the need to push the king away, to claim that Sam belongs only to him.

The kiss lasts three or four breaths in and the same amount of breaths out. Ramses' right hand lands inside the loop making the top of the ankh, right above Sam's heart. And Sam's chest pushes back, inflates with air invading his lungs, with blood circulating his veins, with life claiming him again.

Dean is not crying. He doesn't mind either that Nosibis and then Semotep, the haughty priest, kiss Sam too. Even if he does mind, Dean remains silent, for he sees Sam's face coloring, eyes taking in their surroundings, body trying to move away from the kisses of people he didn't invite to share an act so intimate with.

But when they're done, Sam sits up on his own, without any help. He looks beautiful and whole. He looks like the Sam of one year ago.

Sam looks down at his hand entwined with Dean's. He moves his fingers around Dean's, testing the grip they have on each other, and then Sam looks up.

He looks at Dean with tears in his eyes, trying to say thank you, but Dean doesn't need any more thanks than seeing him alive and well. He will take a lifetime of that kind of thanks, a lifetime of Sam at his side.

Sam is not even unsteady on his feet when he stands up. He's just… gorgeous seems like a good word to describe Sam when there's no trace of exertion on him anymore. And he's Dean's to hold and love, so Dean does just that, gripping Sam hard inside the circle of his arms, and Sam grips just as hard.

They hear Patmosis and other mummies congratulating them, wishing Sam a happy, long and fulfilling life. Some say Sam's lucky to have such a brother caring for him. And Sam laughs awkwardly as he agrees, wishing he could thank his lover by kissing him too. Dean has shared his life force with him so many times in the past year, without realizing what he was doing, but now they both see how much they sustain each other, how incomplete they are without this endless circle of giving and taking and giving again that has to go both ways, all the time.

The last one to share in the joy of the moment is the bird. She comes close enough to push her beak against both their heads and cuddles with them. Dean wouldn't be surprised to learn that she adds her own power to the great melting pot.

It's obvious he's not the only one realizing in this moment how valuable an animal the pterosaur is. Later, when they're all ready to take this somewhere else, back to their respective homes, Ramses makes his will known.

"The bird will accompany us back home."

"Home, as in Egypt ?" Sam immediately catches up.

"Absolutely. She will be well loved and tended to, and she will bring power to our court."

Ramses is no fool. Dean wishes he had the means to keep the bird, too. But his life is too hectic. They have no place to call home, just hotels and pensions, traveling from one to the next as they hunt, and there's no way they could manage to make her fit in. Not to mention the problem of getting her back to the USA with them. It's not like they can put her in a box down in the hold and get her out once they've crossed the ocean.

"We will call her Nefertari," Ramses decides, "in honor of our beautiful consort."

Dean's not a fan of the name. Kind of impractical for a pet.

"Neffy," he says. "How do you like it, sweetheart ?"

The bird puts her beak in his hand in that way they both love.

"You like it ? Awesome ! Neffy it is."

Dean feels eyes glaring at him behind his back, but ask him how much he cares.

His own eyes search for Sam. Just making sure, you know. Sure that it wasn't all a dream, that Sam is back

\-------------

Victor Roger has been sober since the cops threw him in a drunk tank. Granted, it wasn't that long ago, but it looks like an important day. He told himself this was a sign, that it was time to change.

And it doesn’t mean he can’t still go and see Josette, the pretty girl at the bistro, the one who receives her clients in the backroom that smells of patchouli and makes him sneeze, but that he keeps visiting because Josette smiles a lot and she’s so talented with her tongue.

So he's not drunk. No one has cause to suggest he might be hallucinating.

He’s on his way to his small, lonely apartment when he spots them. From a distance, they look like a bunch of tipsy students, walking funny and dressed funnier. The leader sports big headgear and other jewels shining bright thanks to the street lamps lighting the place de la Concorde, and Victor wonders if it’s Mardi Gras and he somehow missed it.

But then his brain catches up with what his eyes are telling him.

Mummies. Mummies of ancient Egypt, in Paris. Mummies talking and laughing, admiring the Obelisk on the place de la Concorde as if they wished for one like that at home.

"Sorry, pals," Victor mutters under his breath. "This one's ours."

There's no way they heard him, he thinks, when they all turn their head toward him. So he keeps on going.

Of course they need to pass close to him ! On such a big place, there's no way they could just avoid each other…

Irony can only get him so far before he quivers in his boots. And he can't stop himself screaming like a little boy when he hurries far from them and something lands right in his path, hardly one meter away from him.

It's the deadly bird, the dinosaur, the pe… pter… something, and Victor is on the verge of wetting himself with terror.

"Neffy," a regal voice calls from very close behind him, and Victor doesn't jump. 

No, he doesn't. Nor does he wet himself this time. Not at all.

Victor stops moving. He even tries to stop breathing as the bird watches him.

"Come, Neffy," the same voice orders. "Let's go home."

The bird kind of huffs, as if disappointed that it wasn't able to play with its prey any longer, or that it wasn't allowed to eat him, but then it moves, taking flight again, and soon dinosaur and mummies have gone. Victor finds he can move again.

There’s not enough red wine in the world to help him forget what he saw.

One thing’s for sure : the mummies can travel right back to Egypt, Victor won’t go to the police this time !

Instead, he doubles back and makes his way to the bistro ; if he sees mummies in the streets of Paris, there's no point in being sober.

\-------------

Dean breathes deep, inhaling the fresh air of this fine, late afternoon of April. He wants to remember one of the last moments he's spending in France as the ferry takes him, Sam and a lot of other passengers from the harbor to the ship that will carry them back home at last.

They've taken their sweet time about it. Dean didn't think it was possible but since his "rebirth," Sam's lust for life and all it has to offer has increased. It means Sam dragged him along – Dean wasn't ready yet to let his brother out of his sight – to visit every museum, every castle, every church he wanted to see. They all blurred into Dean's mind after the third trip, but Sam never seemed satisfied.

They spent the end-of-the-year holidays in Paris, but then went back to search the province, sometimes going for neighboring countries. While Sam hunted libraries and old stones, Dean had a blast listening to the inhabitants sharing their legends and tasting local brew.

Then one day, after they took care of a vengeful ghost acting up in the cemetery next to the 12th century chapel they were visiting because of some Madonna and Child wooden sculpture no one but his brother had ever heard about, Sam admitted he felt kind of homesick.

So here they are at last, about to embark.

They know they're trailed by demons quite often. It doesn't matter as long as they don't come close or try anything. Sam can hold his own again in a fight, and they're both armed and dangerous. The demons know it. Dean's pretty sure the fact that he killed Asmodée made sure every last one of them knows he means business, especially since Bobby found out that the yellow eyes indicated that this one was a prince of hell.

The fact is, Dean doesn't really care about demons. The one he wants to find is Azazel, the bastard who boasted about killing their mother. By the time he's finished with the sorcerer, the man will wish for a nice vacation in hell.

But Azazel has made himself scarce, of course. Dean and Sam still don't know if the needle he planted in Sam's brain was something he found by chance or if he was acting on Asmodée's behalf. Nor do they know why he killed their mother. Is this some kind of family feud they're not aware of ? A multi-generational vendetta ? Is Dean next in line for an attempt on a Winchester's life ? Or will they – whoever they might be – go again after Sam ? Whatever the answer, Azazel's end will be long and painful.

Maybe that's why the demons are still watching them, making sure they don't get too close to Azazel and the secrets he's keeping.

They were still at the harbor when Sam spotted two men watching them intently, as if making sure they were leaving at last the old continent, ready to wish them safe travel and please don't ever come back.

The ferry stops next to the ship, sailors throwing ropes to tie them together.

"Ladies first, Sammy," Dean offers like the gentleman he is. "Get on that boat !"

"Ship, Dean," Sam huffs, almost in spite of himself, and Dean grins.

Once they step on the deck, they take in the crowd already there. They hear more than one language but the most used seems to be English, and it feels a bit like home already.

A young boy stops in front of them and looks at Dean with awe in his eyes.

"You're Dean Winchester," he stammers in French, "I saw you when my mum took me to that boring book signing event last year."

With a snort, Dean signs the book in the kid's hand, "A Mummy in Paris", published only a few days ago, the newest in the Dean Winchester's Extraordinary Adventures series and already a success. Except this one is a turning point. After everything that happened, how close Dean came to losing his brother, he decided that a change was in order.

Both their names now appear to indicate they wrote together. And this is why the series is now called Dean and _Sam_ Winchester's Extraordinary Adventures, as it appears on top of the book cover in big, bold, golden letters that look like hieroglyphs. Benny had a blast with the design on that one ! In Dean's opinion, the twelve pen illustrations alone are worth the price of the copy.

Not only because Dean loves to make fun of the long hair the Sam character of the book is sporting. Much longer than the original, just like every other detail makes him almost feminine. It's just too easy to call the character Samantha and then watch Sam's face doing this grimace that seems to mean 'you're the worst idiot and if you weren't my brother I'd never want to see you again but I love you anyway' and warms Dean's heart.

So Dean hands the book over to Sam for him to sign it in his turn, which he does before he gives it back to the boy who then runs to find his parents again

"Mark my words, Sammy. One day, our books will be so well-known and admired that they'll be exhibited at the Louvre !"

It's a surefire way to launch Sam into his favorite diatribe as of late.

"I still can't believe you dared to take a dinosaur into the biggest museum in the world !"

How many times has Dean heard about the damages the big bird could have done to the priceless paintings and other sculptures ? Too many, that's the answer ! As if Sam still can't wrap his big brain around the fact that there's nothing Dean wouldn't do to save him.

He better get used to it, because Dean would do it all again in a heartbeat. And he'll keep fighting demons and gods to make sure Sam is okay, just as he knows Sam will do the same for him.

They'll keep their eyes open to stave off any threat, but Dean is not afraid. They proved they can beat any odds. Whatever the world throws at them, together, they're strong enough to beat it.

So Dean takes Sammy's hand and leads him toward their cabin. Time for a private moment. They need to make the most of the cruise this time.

A horn sounds, letting everyone know that the ship is about to sail, but neither Dean nor Sam pay attention to the joyous exclamations from other passengers.

They keep walking as the Titanic takes them toward their next adventure.

\-------FIN-------

**Author's Note:**

> Places visited in Paris and other details you might find useful (you can check [this map](http://evasion-online.com/imagearticle/2015/08/karte-station-velib.jpg) showing the monuments, streets and other places in Paris I mention in the fic, all of them running alongside the Seine in the center of the city or quite close) :  
> \- I don't think I need to explain the **Eiffel Tower** ? Built for the 1889 exposition universelle (world's fair), it's been the tallest man-made structure in the world until 1930, and is still the highest tower in Paris.  
> \- The **[Jardin des plantes](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jardin_des_plantes)** (Garden of plants) in Paris was established in 1635. Apart from the plants, you can also find [four famous museums](https://www.mnhn.fr/en) about the evolution of life on the planet, mineralogy, paleontology, botany, the biggest herbarium in the world, and a small zoo.  
> \- The 36 **[quai des Orfèvres](https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/36,_quai_des_Orf%C3%A8vres)** (literally : quay of the goldsmiths) is the former address of the police headquarters in Paris on the île de la Cité (the island where you can also find the cathedral Notre Dame de Paris). It's such a famous, iconic place that it's usually called Quai des Orfèvres, or even just "the 36", and everyone knows what you're talking about. I discovered while researching this story that the police didn't settle there before 1913 which makes it impossible in fact for the events of the fic to happen there, but I went with it anyway.  
> \- The **Élysée palace** is the place where the presidents of the French republic work, and sometimes even live, since 1874. Nowadays, you can visit it every year during a weekend in September, on the occasion of the event called "Journées du patrimoine". [Here](http://ba-idane.over-blog.com/2015/09/au-palais-de-l-elysee.html) are some pictures somebody took and shared on her blog. Scroll down to see the library (bibliothèque Napoléon III). As an aside, while the movie makes use of the real president of that time (Armand Fallières), I made one up for this story so don't go looking for President Malvy's achievements.  
> \- The movie uses a character called Saint Hubert but my own take veers off quite significantly from the original. **[Saint Hubert](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hubertus)** is the patron saint of hunters. Born in 656 in Toulouse (France), he died in 727 near Liège (Belgium). A wild young man living for the hunt, it is said he had a vision, a stag he was about to kill wearing a cross between its antlers, as a voice told him to turn to the Lord or go down to hell. He thus went on to become a bishop and a saint. In the fic, my character owns dogs who are of course [St. Hubert hounds](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bloodhound) (generally called Bloodhound). Also, the articles at Wikipedia about the Saint Hubert's key are somewhat different, whether you look at the [French](https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clef_de_Saint-Hubert) or [English](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Hubert%27s_Key) ones. This story offers yet another version of it…  
> \- The **[Louvre](https://www.louvre.fr/en/homepage)** is of course one of the biggest art museums in the world. Set in a former royal palace, the collection include a great deal of Egyptian antiquities.  
> \- The **[obelisk](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luxor_Obelisk)** from Luxor was a gift from Egypt to France in 1828 and has been displayed on the place de la Concorde since 1836. It was made on Ramses II's order to praise his reign.
> 
> Last, a small FYI for the purist among us : technically, the French name for the archangel is Michel, and not Michaël or Mickaël (pronounced mi-cka-el), two more recent versions. But I wanted it to rhyme more closely to Gabriel and Raphaël, so… artistic freedom and all that jazz. This zany story was definitely the place to go with it !


End file.
